Prayer of a Child
by Indarae
Summary: In 1984, the Lestranges and Barty Crouch, Jr. attacked the Longbottoms - we know Frank was an Auror, but what if the attack was part of a much larger plan? Who was he guarding? (A response to Severitus' challenge)
1. The Beginning

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Won't be mine. 

A/N: I've gone ahead and done it — this has been festering on my hard drive for ages, but it's time to get it out in the open. Enjoy.

Prayer of a Child:

A Response to Severitus' Challenge

"Can you hear the prayer of the children, 

On bended knee in the shadow of an unknown room?

Empty eyes with no more tears to cry

Turning heavenward toward the light."

-Kurt Bester, "Prayer of the Children" 

October 31, 1984

The woman was already beyond pain, staring blankly at the ceiling, so Medea Lestrange released the Cruciatus Curse and turned back to the man who lay bound on the floor, eyes locked on the unseeing face of his wife. "Well? Do we move on to your son, or do you tell us where the boy hides, Longbottom?"

The man in question, stocky and growing pudgy in the years since the Dark Lord's mysterious defeat, set his face in a grimace. "You can't find him, Lestrange, he's hidden -"

"Whom? Your son or Potter?" Medea's husband demanded. Iscariot let out a bark of laughter, face still set grimly. "Potter, yes. Well hidden, though it's buried somewhere in your brain. Your son...? He's Potter's age, isn't he. I'm sure they'd have been good friends... Barty!" he shouted. On cue, the young collegue of Medea and Iscariot dragged in a chubby boy of four, his eyes wide with fear as Barty Crouch, Jr. held him in a bruising grip. "Yes, this one would've made quite the companion for young Mr. Potter... one of them dies, Auror Longbottom. The choice is yours."

The man looked over at his son, face blanched in fear. "Neville... I love you, Neville, be strong -"

"Iscariot, we haven't much time."

Medea's husband nodded. "I know. The others should be on their way already. Barty, some persuasion for Auror Longbottom?"

With a grim smile, Barty tossed the boy to the ground and raised his wand. His "_Crucio_" was echoed by a double scream; one from the boy, one from his father. Medea fought the urge to turn away — her own daughter was in school, years older than little Neville Longbottom, but she'd once been his age — but in deference to her absent Lord, she looked on. But the boy grew silent, eyes glazing over like his mother's.

Iscariot sighed. "Barty, when will you learn? You've broken him already."

Longbottom let out a mournful cry, struggling against his bonds to reach for his son, as Barty dropped the curse with a sheepish apology. None was necessary — Barty had joined the movement only a short time before the Dark Lord's banishment on the disasterous night of October 31, 1981, and had escaped Azkaban through the pleas of his highly-ranked father, but was every bit as faithful as the Lestranges. He'd elected to join them on their suicide mission of final revenge — October 31, 1984, the night the Boy Who Lived was to die.

Medea turned her wand on Longbottom. "Now Frank, you know there's only supposed to be one death tonight. Potter will still die, but should Neville and Margaret be added to the death toll?" Longbottom didn't answer, giving a whimper and staring longingly at his son. Medea gave a sigh. "This really shouldn't have been necessary... _Imperio_." 

Auror Longbottom fought against it bravely, but years of experience with the Dark kept him held fast. "Four," he finally murmured at Medea's insistence, "Four Privet Drive -"

Medea dropped the curse and slumped forward slightly, trying to recover from the effort of holding Longbottom under her control. Iscariot stepped forward and supported her. "Marvelously done, my wife. You'll have the honor of the killing blow, when it is time. Barty, will you finish here? No one is to be killed... but Auror Longbottom shan't be left sane enough to tell any tales..." Iscariot took Medea's arm and guided her aside, seemingly oblivious to Longbottom's renewed screams. "Dumbledore is more of a fool than I'd thought. Love, this is Privet Drive. Number 8. He's stationed the boy's protection within shouting distance."

She couldn't help herself. Medea laughed aloud, even as Frank Longbottom's screams died away into madness. "The fool... Barty, raise the Mark! Then over to Figg's to finish her off. We'll be waiting for you at Number 4! There will yet be revenge this night!"

And as a glowing skull and snake floated above the silent house for all wizards to see, the three set out to finish the night.

Inside of Number 4, a short, painfully skinny boy crouched by the window, staring in fear at a skeletal apparition floating in the night sky. "Aunt Petunia!" he shrieked, stumbling back and tripping over one of his cousin's toys, "There's a — there's a thing in the air!"

Aunt Petunia, a catty blonde woman with a long neck and wrinkled face, peered darkly through the window. "I see nothing, boy. What did I tell you about fibbing?"

He went on without thinking. "But it _is_ there! It is! It's like magic!"

She let out a scream, grabbing Harry by the arm in a bruising grip and dragging him from the parlour to the front entryway, finally tossing him bodily into the cupboard beneath the stairs. "You are never to contradict me! Nothing was outside, you little brat!" Petunia slammed the cupboard door shut.

But little Harry knew what he'd seen. He huddled silently on the cot in the cupboard which served as a bedroom, shaking as the front door of the house was slammed open. Trying not to make a noise, he scooted forward and peered through the ventilation grate in the door.

A tall, dark woman and a thin, gaunt-faced man, both dressed in odd long coats, had sticks pointing at his aunt. "Get out!" Pentunia screamed, still in a rage over Harry's words. "I don't want your kind in here!"

"Where's Potter?" the man demanded.

Harry gasped softly and shrunk back against the opposite wall, trying to hide away but also losing sight of the scene in the hall. Aunt Petunia's voice continued. "There's no Potter here! There aren't any more freaks in my family!" A shadow moved past the grate and Harry saw a bit of his aunt's flowered apron as she moved past the cupboard.

An unfamiliar voice, the woman who'd entered with the man, spoke next. "He's here. Tell me where! _Crucio_!"

There was a thud, and Aunt Petunia was screaming, and Harry cowered against the wall in fear, trying to keep the tears from coming. Uncle Vernon hated it when he cried, but he couldn't stop. "The cupboard!" his aunt screamed, "He's in the cupboard!"

Before Harry could move or even think of escape, the gaunt-faced man had opened the cupboard and wrapped his bony hands around Harry's arms. "Finish the Muggle, luv. No witnesses."

Another strange phrase came from the dark woman, who was towering over Aunt Petunia. "_Avada Kedavra_." A sickly green light — eerily familiar — flashed through the room, leaving Aunt Petunia lying on the ground and not moving.

Harry stared with wide eyes, knees shaking. "Is she dead?" he whispered.

The man slammed Harry's small body against the wall, sending him whimpering in pain. "No talking!" he barked. "You killed our Master, and we cannot use the curse on you, but it doesn't mean there aren't other ways to kill you!"

"He's four, Iscariot! Just kill him," the woman said. "Then we'll have had our revenge..."

"No!" the man, Iscariot, howled, jerking Harry from the wall and sending him careening into the wooden bench in the entryway. "He feels the pain our Master felt!" Harry moaned, curling into as small a target as he could make, but the man pointed a stick of polished wood at him threateningly. "_Crucio_," the man yelled, and Harry screamed.

Three Aurors Apparated into the living room of the Longbottom home as quickly as they could after the Third Eye monitoring system picked up screams. Remus Lupin knew what had happened the moment he appeared on the scene — the scent of fear and pain was heavy on the air and his werewolf senses easily picked them up. Three bodies lay on the ground, all living, but as Remus' partner, Oliver Lynn, sighed as he checked them over — "Cruciatus Curse. They're insane."

"Wait!" Moody crowed, limping to the side of the smallest body, "their son... I don't think he's been broken. Oli, Remus, go over to 4 Privet — it's just a few houses down. Frank was guarding the boy living there. I'll go to Arabella's and call for backup from there. Don't touch _anything_ in here, they'll need to look for traces of the attackers!"

Remus was out the door before Moody finished. While 4 Privet meant nothing to him, he'd lost the last of his close friends in its defense — Frank had been a year his senior at school and had been a great comfort to Remus, who had found himself the sole remaining Gryffindor of the class of '78 after the final battle. This attack called for vengeance in a very personal way.

A child's scream caught his attention, and he sped up, hearing Oliver's footsteps do the same. Four Privet's door was open — two adult wizards and the boy were visible. "_Stupefy_!" Remus shouted, sending one to the ground.

The other dropped the curse on the boy and turned to face the oncoming Aurors, but Oliver's "_Petrificus Totalis_!" sent the offender tumbling to the ground. Remus left Oliver to secure the house and dropped to his knees by the child's side.

He was alive, at the very least. The boy was tiny, painfully thin, and bruises had begun to mar the pale skin of his arms where his attacker had held him. Unconscious, but probably not a victim of Cruciatus Insanity. His hair was slightly greasy, as though no one had cared enough to bathe him, and it was longer and shaggier than Remus'. The obvious neglet sent him reeling in shock — who was this boy, that Frank Longbottom would stand aside and let him be treated so terribly?

"They killed a Muggle woman," Oliver reported.

"Any ID on her?" Remus asked, continuing to check the child for injuries. He heard Oliver walking around the hall. There were a few old bruises, suggestive of more than just neglect on the part of the boy's guardians, but no broken bones or badly healed wounds. His face looked familiar, somehow, but nothing immediately recognizeable.

Oliver's boots appeared at the edge of Remus' vision. "Found her purse, Re... odd name, that. Petunia Dursley, born 1958 -"

"Oh, God." Remus stared blankly at the child, his hands beginning to shake uncontrollably. "That's Lily's sister's name... Merlin, that means..."

"Lily who?" Oliver snapped. He crouched down, giving the boy a once-over. "He's certainly not much to look at, is he?"

Tenderly, Remus pulled the boy into his lap and pushed aside the greasy locks of hair hiding his forehead. Oliver gave a loud gasp at what was revealed — a thin, lightning bolt shaped scar on the right side of his forehead. "Lily Potter's sister was named Petunia," Remus murmured, "and she married a Dursley in '77."

"Harry Potter," Oliver whispered, voice full of hero-worship, "but why's he so thin? He's not bathed in -"

Remus couldn't hold back his moan of anger, disgust, fresh pain at the reminder of his loss, and so many other emotions that were no longer under his control. "I told Dumbledore not to leave him with these filthy Muggles!" he finally snapped. Gathering the little boy into his arms, Remus rocked him slowly. "I told him... I told him, and see what happened? He might've died! He might not have lived to see Hogwarts with the way they were treating him!" Rage finally taking over, he launched to his feet, cradling Harry to his chest. "Oli, finish up here, concoct a suitably Muggle excuse for Vernon — that's the husband's name. Tell Mad-Eye that I've taken Harry to Hogwarts."

Oliver nodded, rising as well. "Right. Take care of the little tyke.. hey, how do you know so much about Lily Potter, Re?"

"James was my best friend. Had they lived... he'd be calling me Uncle Re." Lupin left Oliver to his hero-worship and hurried out onto the street, making a dash for Arabella's fireplace. Dumbledore had to know the terrible mistake that had been made.


	2. The Boy

Chapter 1 — The Boy

Even on the night of the new moon, when a werewolf's strength wanes and his hormones balance to nearly the same levels as the average human, an enraged werewolf is nothing to scoff at. On October 31, 1984, only three days before the full moon, with hormones unbalanced and strength waxing, Remus Lupin was a force to be reckoned with. The patrons of the Three Broomsticks had hurriedly stepped aside and Madame Rosmerta quickly accepted his yell of "Ministry Emergency!" as he swept from the Public Floo with a small body draped across his arms and wrapped in his Auror's cloak. Long hair, shot with streaks of grey, whipped in his face and hid amber eyes nearly glowing in his rage.

Up the road, tracing the pathways of his youth past the lake where the Giant Squid basked under the Halloween moon and through the grand entryway — and then it hit him as laughter and music filtered from within the Great Hall. It was Halloween, and the feast would still be going on.

Had it been any other phase of the moon, Remus would have kept himself from making such a hasty decision — but, alas for propriety, the moon waxed and the werewolf's common sense waned. Stopping only to consider his actions for a moment before making sure that Harry was still blissfully unconscious and not in immediate danger, Remus carefully extracted his cloak from around the boy and flung it back around his shoulders. Harry remained tightly clutched in his arms. This _was_ official business, not just personal revenge for three years of agonized wishing and hoping, though revenge would certainly be sweet.

Hesitating only a moment longer and losing his fight to repress the beast within, Remus swept past a protesting Argus Filch and marched proudly past the four tables of Hogwarts students, who all grew silent in the wake of the raging beast. At the Head Table, Professor McGonagall was the first to notice him. She tapped the Headmaster's shoulder and whispered to him, and Albus Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet. Their eyes met in a battle of will as Remus grew closer but, supported by the strength of his outrage, Lupin stood firm.

"What is the meaning of this, Remus?" Dumbledore finally asked, voice low to keep the conversation from drifting to the rows of eavesdropping students.

Remus managed to keep his voice quiet as well, barely holding back the animal growl of rage threatening to break free. "You made a terrible mistake, Headmaster — a mistake that has caused at least four lives, and may claim more before this is over!"

Dumbledore didn't seem to appreciate the dramatics. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

Without a word of response, Remus took the last steps to the High Table and swept the nearly empty plates from the Headmaster's place onto the floor with a crash that caught the attention of every student in the hall. There, on the table, he finally set Harry. Dumbledore remained silent, appearing confused, until Remus pushed aside a lock of the boy's hair.

A strangled gasp escaped Minerva McGonagall, who had been watching from Dumbledore's side. "Good Lord, Remus... is he dead...?"

"No," Remus replied in a slightly calmer, though louder, voice. "Had I been even a moment later, the two Death Eaters who attacked his aunt's home would probably have broken his mind with the Cruciatus they were already using on him — a four year old boy — or they might have been done with it and killed him. No, Harry isn't dead, but Lily's sister is, and Arabella Figg was murdered in her home. And Frank and Margaret Longbottom were broken, and little Neville very well might be."

Shock was hanging on Dumbledore's face. "This... this is not the place to discuss this, Remus -"

"You made a horrible, terrible mistake," Remus continued, oblivious to the sobs coming from someone at the Gryffindor table behind him. "Look at him, Albus. Look at him! He's malnourished. He's not been bathed in days! His hair isn't cared for, he is _bruised_. I told you not to leave him with those filthy Muggles, and look what happened to him!" The rage was back in full force, sending Professor Sprout flinching away and Flitwick diving for cover. "Because of your suspicions of _me_, I ended up the last one alive! James is dead, Lily is dead, Peter is dead, Sirius — God, no, I won't begin to talk about the traitor — but if you hadn't convinced the others that it was me, they might still be alive! Harry is all I had left, and then you took him from me too! I know I couldn't have adopted him but instead of letting Frank and Margaret take him in, or even Arthur and Molly, you had to go and abandon him on the doorstep of those filthy, magic-hating, despised relatives of -"

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore roared. His normally cheerful face was full of anger in a façade so uncharacteristic of the Hogwarts Headmaster that even Remus stopped speaking. "Enough," he repeated quietly. "This will not be discussed here. Give Harry to Poppy — she will take him to the Infirmary."

"No," Remus countered firmly, gathering Harry back into his arms. "Three years ago, I let you take him away. This time I will not give in. When he wakes up, I'll be the one standing there with him. Me, someone who loves him and wants the best for him, not someone who -"

"Fine, then." Dumbledore's voice dropped even quieter and the tension between the two was thick enough to sense. "My office, Remus. You too, Minerva." He turned and headed directly for the teacher's exit and Remus rounded the table to follow.

At the end of the High Table sat Severus Snape. Remus stopped short as he came face to face with a man he'd very nearly killed. But something in the gaunt lines of his face, stringy hair, and oily skin sent Remus' mind reeling.

Harry didn't look like James. He looked alarmingly like Snape.

"Remus!" Minerva snapped. It was only coincidence, Remus tried to convince himself as Snape's disapproving gaze followed him from the room. Only lack of care made Harry Potter look like that bastard.

Minerva McGonagall thought she'd seen everything. In her years as Head of Gryffindor House, she'd welcomed students of all backgrounds and homelife, even a few who had been neglected and abused as Harry Potter seemed to have been. However, Harry's condition was even more severe than the most injured of her students — not only had he been beaten recently, but he'd been starved and hadn't even bathed. He looked... half-alive.

Despite the grime, Remus Lupin held the boy in his arms, his Auror cloak wrapped tightly around him. Harry seemed to be only sleeping, rather than unconscious, and in deference, they all kept their voices low. It was easy to see, however, that Albus Dumbledore was not amused.

"You are never to question my judgement before my pupils, Remus," the old man whispered intensely, eyes narrowed and cold. "Margaret's niece was sitting at the Gryffindor table. What you've done to the poor child is unforgiveable."

"And what about this child?" Lupin snapped back. "What do you plan to do with him? Send him back to the fat bastard that Lily's sister married, and you might as well dig his grave yourself!"

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "Yes, obviously he won't be returning there. We'll locate other relatives for the child. I'm sorry, Remus, but he can't stay with you." The old man's eyes flickered toward the window. "The full moon is in a few nights. I'll forgive your outburst because of it, but I expect an apology to Natalie Hunter for the rude exclamation of her aunt's and uncle's injury. Now please, Remus, give the boy here. You can't keep him."

"No!" The moan was so reminiscent of a lupine howl of pain that Minerva shivered uncomfortably. "I'll not lose him again... I'll not let you take him from me... If it hadn't been for what _you_ insinuated, I might've been the Secret Keeper, and he'd still have parents! I won't let you dump him on relatives when there's someone who loves him and wants to take him in! I'll live like a Muggle if I have to, so help me, Professor!"

Minerva sighed deeply and shook her head. "And where would you leave him when the moon was full? You're right, Mr. Lupin, he's a four-year-old child. Were he older... but he certainly can't care for himself while you're indisposed. I understand how much it hurts -"

He shook his head violently. "No you don't! I lost everything that night! If you toss him with Muggles, I'll never see him again!"

"Not with Muggles," Dumbledore broke in, sharply. "I can see that the arrangement was most... difficult, as the guardians will need to know who and what exactly Harry is. No... we will find blood relatives who are wizards, Remus. Now, please... the child... I believe you're on duty."

Remus drew back and shook his head. "I'll not allow it. Lily hasn't any magical relatives and James' family is all gone. Not that they'd be fit for a child anyways! You remember what Henry and Julius did -"

"Yes, I remember what Henry and Julius did," Dumbledore snapped, ripping his glasses from his face to rub his eyes tiredly. "There's no need to remind me of the most painful period of my life, now is there? I've had enough of this, Remus. If you don't go back to work, you're likely to lose your job, and I had to work hard enough to find that one for you. Please... you can't keep Harry. And I promise you'll be allowed to speak to whomever becomes his guardian. I can't offer any more than that."

Minerva rose slowly from her seat and crossed the room as Albus spoke, reaching out to take the child. The mournful stare that Remus directed at her was enough to break her heart, but her own need to help the only child of James Potter was able to push her onward. With a moan, Remus finally relinquished the boy into her care.

Though Albus kept speaking to Remus, she barely noticed. Instead, she went back to her seat and cradled Harry in her lap, conjuring up a wet cloth to wipe the sweat and grime from his face. Every line of his face brought back memories, as though his father sat downstairs rather than in a grave. James, bright-eyed on the very morning he first saw the gleaming towers of Hogwarts... in class, beaming as he changed a match into a pin before any of the others managed it... the prefect, balancing class and duties and pranks... the day he learned of his brother's betrayal and his half-brother's betrayal, and of his father's death... and the day of his marriage, letting Minerva stand for his mother after her death years earlier... 

She didn't notice the tears on her face as she quietly set about making Harry presentable. Never again, she promised herself — never again would she forget what Harry should've meant to her.


	3. The Case Study

A/N: Sorry the last chapter took so long to get out: I'm a university student, and it was midsem time. As much as I'd like to spend all my time exploring the world of Harry Potter, I had to explore the world of the New Critic in English Literature first! Chapters WILL come out more often, now. Thanks for your patience!

Chapter 3 – The Case Study

Madame Poppy Pomfrey loved children. She loved them so much, in fact, that after her children and their children had grown, she spent years training as a mediwitch in order to join the staff of Hogwarts and care for them. However much she loved her job, though, she missed caring for younger children, those too young to attend Hogwarts. So it was that when little Harry Potter, scarred and in pain, was brought to her infirmary, she nearly rejoiced in her task. "Physically, he should be just fine," she explained to Dumbledore and McGonagall, all the while fussing about the child and tucking him into bed. "He'll be a little sore and his muscles might not respond normally until the affects of the curse have worn off completely – most children subjected to it do not survive, you know – but the outer signs of the abuse should be gone within weeks. Mentally, however... do you remember the child who began years back... 1971? Behavior problems along with a fear of being touched... if it hadn't been for his friends..."

"We remember how he turned out anyways," McGonagall snapped, reaching to grab the child's hand. "Harry won't end up the same. After what the Lestranges did... do you think he'll be afraid to let us touch him? He's just a little boy... he needs to be hugged..."

"I very much doubt the Muggles showered him with hugs," Poppy returned, glaring sternly at Dumbledore. The dratted man should've known! But he didn't even look ashamed of himself. "Now, out. I'll not have you crowding him."

"Get me the moment he wakes," Dumbledore murmured. He patted McGonagall's arm lightly before turning to go. At least he finally knew better than to counter her orders. It was her profession after all. His was to do Headmasterly things. Poppy gave a loud sniff and turned back to her work.

Dumbledore really shouldn't have left – as expected, it was mere moments before Harry's eyes fluttered open and he stared around the Infirmary in a panic. But Poppy wasn't about to call the Headmaster back – no, this called for her grandmotherly touch. It had been long years since Albus had been raising a child – and Henry, Sr. had died years earlier, a disillusioned adult. No, Albus had made enough mistakes with the Potter family for one lifetime. "Hello, Harry..." Poppy murmured, kneeling beside his bed. It was best to tred lightly – the boy would likely cringe from touch and be skitish around everyone. He needed someone he knew he could trust.

Harry's eyes flickered from the ceiling to Poppy's face, and he curled into a ball. "I hurt," he whispered, expressively green eyes filled with fear and confusion. "Aunt Petunia... the man said she's dead."

Heartbreakingly enough, his first words were for the horrid Muggle who'd mistreated him. "Never mind, luv," Poppy responded. The urge to smooth down tufts of shockingly black hair was overwhelming, and his response wasn't as drastic as it might've been. He merely jerked a bit under the touch of her hand rather than drawing away as the other pale, thin boy had, years earlier. "You will feel better very soon, I promise you... and you won't be going back to your Aunt and Uncle. They've not treated you right," she tried to explain. 

The boy was only four, but a lifetime of pain seemed visible in his face. "Not home? But... I have... may I go back to get my box?" he pleaded. He suddenly seemed to realize he'd asked a question and cringed back from Poppy's hand, as if expecting a blow.

Poppy drew her hand back instead, to show it was perfectly alright for him to ask a question. "I'll ask Headmaster Dumbledore if he'll allow it. And if not, we can find a new box for you. A magical box, for treasures."

Harry gasped softly. "You said the m-word. Aunt Petunia's going to smack you!"

"The m-word? You don't know about magic?" Poppy demanded. She was getting overexcited, she knew, but it seemed impossible – Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, didn't know about magic!

"No! There's no such thing as magic, Aunt Petunia said. It's... it's freakish," he said slowly, sounding out the word as if it had been a recent proclamation by the dread aunt.

Poppy pursed her lips. "Well, she's wrong," she murmured. "It's perfectly normal. I use magic. And you can use magic, too. Your aunt can't. She's just jealous."

The light of amazement in his face was enough to make all her efforts worth it. "I can do magic things?"

"Yes... when you grow up, you'll learn to do all sorts of things." She reached over and stroked his cheek lightly, and he was too happy to jerk away from her touch. It was the most promising movement yet. Perhaps Harry would bounce back faster than expected. "Let me show you, Harry... what can I make for you?"

Harry pursed his lips and frowned in a most adult way – it was laughable, but for the fact he'd been forced to grow up so early. "A puppy... may I have a puppy?"

Poppy couldn't help but smile and take Harry's little hand in hers. "Well, I can't make you a puppy without asking Professor Dumbledore – and even then, a real puppy would be better, since Transfigured ones tend to change back after a time – but how about a plush puppy? A Jack Russell terrier, with floppy ears?"

His eyes lit up. "Oh! I could have my own? Not Dudley's old one?"

She didn't bother to ask who Dudley was – likely the horrid woman's son – but smiled and snagged her wand from its place, tucked in her belt. "Watch me, now – it's magic. And someday, you'll be able to make some little boy a stuffed puppy, too."

"Oh, I will!" Harry promised, leaning forward eagerly.

A flick of her wand later, the promised toy was there made from a tin cup, on Harry's lap. Perhaps they wouldn't have a problem with touch at all – Harry scooted across the bed to give Poppy a hug. Truly, the most rewarding day since late 1971.

+

It was all Severus could do to keep from bursting in on the scene and lending his help. He stood in the doorway of the Infirmary, watching the tender scene, and staring at the child. Harry Potter. The son of James Potter, the son of Lily Evans, finally introduced to the wizarding world. When he'd heard about the arrangements... oh, he'd known it would turn out badly. Hopefully little Harry wouldn't turn out as scarred as Severus himself.

He couldn't help but fall instantly under the sway of the child's large green eyes, son of James or not. They were Lily's eyes, looking out through the four long years since her death. Lily, who had brought him back from the depths of despair only to send him floundering once more, when she'd left. But without Lily, Severus would've seen himself wasting away in Azkaban. Despite the pain, she'd been his salvation.

The child didn't look like James. Poppy had washed away the grime present earlier, at the Halloween Feast that left one little Gryffindor in tears and one little Slytherin without parents. He could use a haircut – Severus could, as well, but his appearance meant little enough to him. There was something in his face, something in his eyes that drew Severus – but he was Lily's boy, that was to be expected. It must've been the reflection of Lily's face that moved him. He didn't look like James, but he was still a Potter.

He was just a little boy. He wouldn't understand the underlying loathing that kept the two from ever associating. He was a little boy, and would find himself in the midst of a crazy world.

"He has the curve of Lily's cheek," murmured a voice from behind him – Minerva, looking in past Severus' shoulder.

"And Lily's eyes," Severus added. "He's too thin."

"Much as you are," Minerva said, poking the other professor in the arm. "He doesn't look much like his father, though. When he was first born, he did... or he seemed to. Perhaps it was all the baby fat. He's lost more than that."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Potter never lost the chubby cheeks. He looked like an idiot."

Minerva smacked his shoulder and leaned against the doorframe. "Shame on you, speaking of the dead that way. Besides, it's years past. I'm sure there would've been explanations for what happened, in time... there just wasn't time left for them."

"Maybe there would've been." Severus sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in a huff. "I doubt it, though. Did I ever bother to tell the whole story, as I knew it? You weren't my favourite person at the beginning – you certainly gave me enough detentions as a child."

Minerva laughed and looped her arm through his, dragging him away from the scene playing out in the Infirmary. "You deserved every single one... besides, aren't you getting back at me now through my House? Gryffindors have gotten a record number of detentions since you took over from Professor Flamel two years ago. Honestly, I wasn't sure what it would be like to have a new Potions Professor... he taught me, you know... but no, Severus, you didn't tell me the whole story. The students should be in bed now – we could nick some hot chocolate from the kitchens and have it all?"

Severus sniffed indignantly. "No need for the kitchens. My brew will always surpass theirs..." He steered the Transfigurations professor in the direction of his quarters. "Now, then, I might as well start off now... how much do you know about that time? About me, and Potter, and Lily?"

"Well, I know you were tutoring Lily in school. It seemed the two of you had something going in fifth year, but then there was Black's trick." Minerva winced. "You were right, Severus... about him..."

"Yes, well – just think how much would've been solved, had he been expelled. But, it is the past... and you were right about Lily and I. We tried to keep it quiet, as she was a Muggle-born Gryffindor, and I a pure-blooded Slytherin with illustrious ancestors on both sides. She had a streak of cunning in her... I think it scared her. When I took a side against Black, however, she couldn't stand it – the tutoring stopped, and I didn't speak to her again until 1979." Severus sighed, shrugging his arm away from Minerva.

She pursed her lips. "In '79, you were still..."

"Yes," Severus broke in, giving a rough laugh. "I was still a Death Eater. You know my reasons for it, I've no need to bring that back up. In the light of day, however, we shared a job at a research facility. We were both new interns – she for a Charms specialist, and I was paired with a Potions Master, of course. She'd married Potter in '78, just a few days after school ended. A year later, things weren't bright and beautiful in newly-wed land."

Minerva stopped abruptly. "Wait. You mean – I always thought she and James -"

Another snort. "Minerva, honestly – they put up a strong front, for the media since James was so high-profile, but Lily was seriously considering leaving him."

"No. That's not possible." There was a long pause while Minerva stalked down the hall and stopped before Severus' quarters. "James would've mentioned something. Albus was practically a grandfather to him -"

"Yes, I know. And I wouldn't tell my grandfather about my marital problems. After James' father died, Albus stepped in there, too – and some things are too painful to pass on, even to those trusted. Not even Albus knows what I'm about to tell you. My grandmother certainly doesn't." Severus shrugged and tapped the relevant blocks outside his rooms, opening the door. "It was the Seventies, Minerva. Free love abounded. It just took a little while for the wizarding world to pick up on Muggle values – it always does."

Minerva stopped short again, just inside Severus' living room. She sunk onto a Slytherin-green couch. "That's not true. You can't expect me to believe that Lily would even think of-"

"She would and did. She was going to leave him. I doubt marital fidelity was on the top of her mind the first night. We were both completely pissed – hard day at work, the Ministry was evaluating the College for grant renewal, everyone was on edge. Going to the pub as coworkers sounded like a good idea at the time, and she couldn't stand straight by the time we left." He turned away, trying to hide the pain on his face as he dug through the cupboard to find clean mugs. "I suppose she was inebriated enough to find me attractive. That was that. And the next morning, when she realized she'd shagged a Death Eater, we came to an understanding very quickly – she wouldn't tell the authorities about me, and I wouldn't tell James about her."

She nodded slowly. "You came back to us in December."

Severus sat a mug of hot chocolate in front of Minerva and took a seat nearby, on an equally Slytherin-green chair. "This was in June. It was hardly the last time. We came to other understandings – she was going to leave James, I was going to leave Voldemort, and all would be happy with the world. Or so I naively thought. Potter knew she was having an affair, I think, but he suspected someone else."

"Whom?" Minerva asked. She sipped at her drink. "This is very good... Well, I know it hasn't a thing to do with the story, but who did James suspect?"

He gave a wry grin. "Lupin. Later, in '81, Potter thought Lupin to be the traitor. He never suspected the best friend, of course. And Lily fancied Lupin while we were at Hogwarts. She admitted that to me... but no, it was the evil Slytherin shagging the girl."

Minerva snorted. "You really could be less offensive about it."

"But that's what it was. There was no pretense of love. Then, late in November, she appeared at my office door at the end of the day and announced she'd made up with Potter and wouldn't be seeing me any more. She also informed me that Voldemort had been the cause of my father's death. The evidence was all there, in her hand. She quit her job the next day, and went to work in PR for Potter's Quidditch team, though I now know that was simply a cover for the Order. I saw her once after that, in June of 1980. Very pregnant, of course. She and Potter looked so very happy that I didn't approach them to tell her I'd taken her advice and joined up with the Order. Not that I could – it was in the midst of a banquet, and anyone could hear what I said." Severus shrugged and downed the whole of his mug in one go.

"She left in November, you say?" Minerva's brow wrinkled. "She was already pregnant then. Harry was born in July."

Severus gave another snort. "Well, they'd obviously made up, then. Seeing the boy is... difficult, considering. Especially after what's happened to him. I wouldn't want him to turn into me."

"Yes, well... we'll have to make sure he has a better family than yours. At least that terrible attack had one good consequence – we saw what was happening to Harry. He was removed from the environment. The rest of his childhood will be loving, no matter whom we find to care for him." Minerva patted Severus' hand lightly. "Thank you for the chocolate, Severus, but I have to find Albus. Let him know the boy's awake. And thank you for trusting me with your secrets."

"I only hope you trust me equally. I don't give trust lightly," Severus muttered.

Minerva smiled. "I do. Remind me, sometime, to tell you about a very handsome lad by the name of Henry Potter." She winked and rose from her seat, moving for the door.

Severus sat alone, staring into the fire for the rest of the evening. He saw, there, two round, perfect green eyes staring back from a lifetime ago.

+

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore said softly, perching on the edge of the boy's bed and being very careful not to touch him or do anything that could be considered threatening in the least, "you do know that you'll be getting a new family to live with, correct? Madame Pomfrey has told you that?"

Harry nodded slowly, curled up away from Dumbledore. Minerva couldn't help but feel a stab of pain at what she saw. Long years ago, another scene had taken place – but the child hadn't escaped, then. He'd been sent back into hell, by the very staff that should've been able to save him. And then, there was that dear boy's fall to Darkness...

"Well, then," Albus was saying, "Madame Pomfrey told me there was something from your room in your aunt's home that you wanted."

The little boy looked over at the Matron, who was smiling and nodding encouragingly from the door. Poppy was certainly good at that – she'd put a good number of little children at ease over the years. Harry smiled at the mediwitch and looked back at Dumbledore. "My box. It has all my things in it," he said, almost breathlessly. "May I go back to get it?"

"Where is it?" Dumbledore asked. "I'll promise you that no one will look inside of it. I'll go and get it myself, if you wish."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh... but I hid it. In my cupboard. You might not find it, I have to go. But will you make Dudley not be there?"

Minerva couldn't help herself – she crossed the room and knelt by Harry's side. Something about the boy was just so alluring – perhaps the perfect innocence, or the brightness of his eye, despite the horror he'd seen. "Is Dudley your cousin? Why don't you want him there?"

"Ohhh... well, Dudley..." Harry gave a nervous giggle and leaned forward to whisper in Minerva's ear. "Dudley's mean to me. But don't tell Aunt Petunia!"

The bruises on his wrists seemed to suggest that the cousin hadn't been the only one hurting Harry – but Minerva kept silent, on that matter. "Well, where is your cupboard, then? Is it in your bedroom?"

Though she hadn't thought it possible, his eyes widened even more. "No! I sleep in the cupboard under the stairs – that IS my bedroom. I'm not very big, and the cupboard is big enough for me – I even have a shelf in there, for the books that Dudley doesn't want anymore – they have such pretty pictures -"

"You slept in a cupboard?" Dumbledore whispered. He drew back and turned away before the boy got a good look at the horror on his face. Minerva saw, however, and reached across Harry to lay a hand on her colleague's shoulder. 

Harry flinched. "Uncle Vernon said I have to. Freaks sleep in cupboards, he said. Do you sleep in a cupboard, too? Can you do – do _magic_ like Mum Pomfrey?" 

"Of course we do," Minerva murmured. "All of us do. And your new family will be able to do magic as well – they'll understand if you make something disappear, by accident. It's perfectly normal, Harry."

His mouth fell open, almost comically. "I'm normal?"

"Of course you're normal," Poppy said, crossing the room. "Now, then... is there anything else you need to ask him? You see, I've promised Harry that I'd make tea for him, and it's tea time. We're going out on the lawn, to meet Hagrid."

"Yes, yes, go on," Dumbledore said, standing and taking a step away from the bed to let Poppy in. She scooped Harry into her arms – he didn't flinch away from her touch – and plucked the stuffed dog from the bed. "We'll stay for a few minutes, I think. Have a good tea, Harry."

Harry burrowed his face into Poppy's shoulder as the two went off. Dumbledore sat again, burying his face in his hands. "Minerva... I've made a mistake..."

"You can still help him," she murmured. "He's not so far gone as Severus was. Harry's only four... we can take him away from the Dursleys. Severus was eleven by the time he came, and was beyond our reach." Minerva frowned and patted his shoulder again. "We had no way of knowing what they were doing to him."

"A cupboard!" he snapped suddenly. "Can you imagine what life must've been like for the poor boy? He slept in a cupboard... it must've been filthy... He's too thin by half, and his hair's a disgrace! He looks like Severus – he doesn't even look like his father anymore! And Severus never really recovered... he still doesn't gain weight normally, and avoids people, and -"

"- Is standing at the door," the Potions Master's snarky voice cut in as he swept across the room. "I'd prefer to not be used as a case study. The history, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore winced, but accepted the book the dark man thrust at him. "Severus, I'm sorry – you know it wasn't meant that way."

"Perhaps not." Severus shrugged and stood before them awkwardly. "I don't blame either of you. I just wasn't Gryffindor enough to catch your attention." A thick tension fell between Severus and Dumbledore, even as Snape cut off the older man's response. "Well, go on. Find the boy a home. He can't stay here."

Albus wasn't in a frame of mind to respond to anything. Lines of pain were etched across his face, each making him look twice as old as usual. Minerva wasn't quite sure why Albus had put his trust in the young man standing before them – only twenty-four, and the agent of plenty of pain in his short life – but something connected the two that Minerva certainly didn't understand. And it was hardly the first time that something Severus had said had brought Albus to speechlessness. She reached over and gently took the tome from his hands, allowing Albus enough time to regain his composure. "Now then... oh, Lord – I didn't realize _all_ the Rosses were killed." Minerva traced a finger along family lines as the whole of Harry's father's past was projected up before them. "Well, that line's ruled out – he can't be sent with the Avery's, after all. And a Lestrange? I wonder if they knew they were trying to kill their grand-nephew."

"They wouldn't have cared," Severus cut in. "I knew them, well enough. Medea... I wouldn't have expected this of her, especially since Dina was born, but Iscariot was known as a cruel man even among Voldemort's followers. She was a restraining hand, but even that didn't seem to be enough to stop them. Had Dina been the agent of Voldemort's destruction, I've no doubt they would've killed her. Their own daughter."

"So many dead," Albus whispered. Minerva tore her glance from Snape to examine the Headmaster fearfully – he seldom retreated into remembrance like that. His eyes were locked on the long string of names, each with a date of death attatched. And one in particular – Henry Potter, Sr. "How long has it been since Henry died? Seven years... four months... I shouldn't have outlived him..."

Minerva nodded sadly. No one should outlive their son – even an adopted one. Henry should've been her own age, enjoying the prime of the wizarding life, playing out on the grounds with his grandson rather than lying in a grave in Hogsmeade. "But it's over, now. No more sons are going to die." She patted his hand, and went back to the tree. "Well, there's a Ross here – no, wait, he's only eighteen. He can't possibly take care of Harry... hasn't Henry Ross taken his adopted father's last name? He's a Ravenclaw seventh year, is he not?"

Snape nodded shortly. "Henry Parker, he goes by. He's for Muggle university next term. Though we should bring him to meet Harry – it might do the boy some good. Both of them."

"My own brother would be next of kin," Minerva murmured. "I hadn't realized the Potters were so close to the bloodline. And Albus, next of all – but you can't take him on, you've too much to do."

"He needs a father, not a grandfather," Albus said. He sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "It's as I feared, isn't it... we'll have to look even farther. A blood match may not be possible, and it's blood we need, to keep him safe."

"We could do a blood match on him," Severus suggested. "It's a simple enough potion. I know Lily was Muggleborn, but another may've come from her family, years back, and we wouldn't know about it. It's common enough for more than one member of a Muggle family to manifest magic."

Minerva gave a snort. "I have doubts about that theory – isn't that one of You Know Who's? That all Muggleborns actually came from a halfblood marriage, hundreds of years back?"

Snape drew back and grew silent – he never was able to accept criticism of his ideas – but Albus jumped in. "No, Severus, that's an excellent idea. If nothing turns up... it looks as if you or Minerva may be the closest we have to blood relatives."

Severus gaped silently for a moment. "Wait – me?"

"Well, the lines intersect in two places. Here and here," Albus pointed. "And this one is only a few generations back. That double crossing makes you the second most likely candidate – after all, the next choice would be David Avery, Sr. or Lucius Malfoy. Henry's father hadn't been brought up with the right sort of crowd... if it hadn't been for the uprising, Henry would've been another Ulysses..." Albus shrugged. "If you'd rather, you could just take him on now, Severus -"

Snape, of course, was halfway to the door before Albus had finished. "I'll have the potion in mere hours. We'll do the test tomorrow." He fled.

"James would rise from the grave to murder us if we left his son with Severus," Minerva murmured.

Albus gave a half smile to that. "Well, perhaps he will. Although... I think he'd thank us, in the end. Severus may be the exact sort of help that Harry needs, and I think Severus needs Harry."


	4. The Father

A/N: Alrighty, here goes the next chapter. I'm on break right now — which should, of course, mean plenty of writing time... however, I've got the homework from hell, coupled with Percy's aging circuits (Percy is my computer. He's got a stick up his... backend. I think the name fits). I'll see what I can do about getting chapters on some sort of schedule... but I don't know. Let me know what you think, please!

Chapter 3 — The Father

"Madame Pomfrey — Professor Flitwick and Professor Parker need your help in the Great Hall," Severus gasped out, panting as he took the last leap into the Infirmary. The day after Harry Potter's appearance at Hogwarts, some things had calmed down at least. 

The mediwitch was seated beside young Potter's bed, quietly reading a book. "Shh, he's just gone down for a nap. And you're a professor now, Severus — you really should call me Poppy."

Severus cleared his throat. It was habit — only six years earlier, calling the mediwitch by her given name would warrant a detention. "Yes, Poppy — it's an emergency, however. Profe- er, Filius and Petrus were working with the dueling club again, and a stray _Inflamarae _-"

"Oooh, not again," she groused, rocketing to her feet. "The same bloody thing happened last time." In mere moments, she'd crossed the room and began digging through her cabinets. "You've a free hour, correct?"

"No, it's my turn to supervise detention. I was passing the hall when I heard Pr- Petrus calling for help. Perhaps he's gone a bit... senile? After all, he was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts when I was here..." Severus cleared his throat and gave an uncomfortable shrug. There was no doubt about it — the man was a menace, and had been for years. The dueling club, once a champion in the National Schools of Magic League, had been at the bottom of the rankings for almost two decades.

Pomfrey gave a snort. "He's more than senile. Mark my words, I'll have the dueling club shut down by nightfall. Now, then — could you watch Harry for me? He shouldn't be in here when I bring up the casualties. Burning flesh does smell terribly."

Severus froze. "But — the detention, I have to — I can't take a child there — Poppy, I hate small children -"

"Oh, he'll be a perfect gentleman." She tucked various potions into a bag and tossed the strap over her shoulder, crossing back to Harry's beside. "There now... wake up, dear. I'm needed downstairs."

Harry blinked widely and struggled to sit up. "What's wrong? Is Aunt Petunia here? She'd be mad if she was here — everybody's doing _magic_." He whispered the last word, giggling nervously. Severus cringed.

"No, no — I told you, sweetheart, Aunt Petunia won't hurt you again. Now, I need you to go play with Severus, here. Will you do as he asks?" Poppy smiled and lifted the boy out of bed. He was dressed in wizarding clothes, now, but looked vaguely uncomfortable wearing the robes. Frankly, Severus wasn't fond of formal, old-fashioned robes either. There were more than a few painful memories attatched to a wrinkled presentation or two.

Harry nodded somberly and Poppy crossed to Severus, shoving Harry into his arms. "Be good now. Both of you. I'll find you for supper, Harry."

Severus froze, trying desperately not to drop the boy. He'd never held a child in his life. Harry seemed to find the expression of horror on Snape's face quite amusing, as he giggled and gave the professor's hair a tug. "Your hair is just like mine. It's all long and icky. Aunt Petunia tried to give me a haircut, but then it just grew back and was all long again! Mum Pomfrey said it was magic!"

There was a long moment of silence, as Severus panicked. Finally, he cleared his throat to speak. "Er — shall I set you down? I'm required to watch a group of students during their detention."

"What's detention?" Harry snuggled his face against Severus' shoulder and grabbed his collar tightly. Obviously, walking wasn't on the boy's agenda.

Severus gave a sigh of acceptance and started out of the infirmary, taking the back way toward the dungeons. "They broke the school rules. Detention is their punishment. Instead of having fun this evening, they have to sit with me."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Aunt Petunia said I was a bad boy. I didn't have detention, though. She locked me in my cupboard. Is that like detention?"

"No," Severus whispered, unable to speak normally past the lump forming in his throat. "Not at all like detention." Though a lot like being locked in a broom closet when one made a mistake on one's lesson.

The little boy nodded again and snuggled his nose into the folds of Severus' sleeve. So far, looking after the boy wasn't too much of a problem. Well, there would be snot on his shirt, and he'd somehow have to explain the appearance of a little boy to his students without mentioning the name "Harry Potter" but it couldn't be too hard.

He turned the corner and opened the dungeon classroom door. Harry was being quiet. Only one student had arrived for detention — not surprising, since there were still ten minutes before it started. "Hello, Professor Snape!" Dina Lestrange called, looking up from an open book. "Oh, who's that?"

Severus froze up again, staring at the daughter of the couple who'd tried to kill the very boy in his arms in horror. Harry wasn't saying anything — in fact, it looked as though he'd managed to fall asleep. "I — er, this is- I mean -"

Dina lept to her feet, grinning madly. "Oooh, whose is he? He's Parker's love-child, isn't he! I knew the old man was acting oddly!"

"NO- no, he's certainly not -" Severus growled, cutting himself off. "Just — drop it, please. You're here for a detention. What did you do this time?"

The fourth-year Slytherin shrugged. "Threatened the Hufflepuff potrait. Filch caught me in the act. So whose is he? Little kids aren't allowed at Hogwarts, unless they belong to a professor. Is he one of Madame Pomfrey's great-grandchildren? I heard she has a few."

Severus sighed and adjusted Harry's position. The boy wasn't light. Well, he was light for his age, actually, but Severus wasn't used to carrying small children around. Harry made an irritated grunt and turned his face.

Dina gasped, staring at the little boy. With a wince, Severus readied himself to give a reason that he, supposedly a firm supporter of Voldemort, would be carrying around the very instrument of the Dark Lord's destruction — after all, a Lestrange would know the Dark side of the story — but he was mistaken. "Professor, I'd no idea you were married!" she exclaimed.

"I'm not," Severus snapped. He was about to add more, regardless of the consequences — he couldn't have the girl spreading tales about a son — but his irritated snapping woke the little boy who, in the good tradition of tired youngsters everywhere, began whining for Mum. Or, in this case, Mum Pomfrey'. Before Dina's eyes could widen even farther, Severus shook his head emphatically. "No. Don't even think it. He can't pronounce Madame correctly."

There was no more time for explanations, as the door banged open, and a red-headed flurry entered, followed more sedately by a number of other students, all fourth-years. Thankfully for the lot of them, they weren't late. "Harry, quiet down," Severus snapped, frowning at the boy, whose response was to glare back. At least he'd gone silent. "You're all here for detention. The Headmaster is indisposed — what was the offense?"

The students were all staring at Harry. "Er, fight on the Pitch," a Gryffindor boy — Charles Weasley, Severus remembered — muttered. "Gryffindor Beaters and I had it booked for a special practice, but these dolts -"

"We booked it for a Chaser practice!" Matthew Eck, of Severus' own Slytherin House, broke in. "You wrote the note yesterday, Professor! But when we got down there, these stupid Mudbloods were -"

"Don't you dare call me that!" the one Gryffindor girl present, Melissa Palermo, shrieked. She lunged for Eck, but Weasley and his sidekick, Phillip McNally, caught hold of her.

"Language, Eck. And you'll note that Weasley is a pureblood?" Severus didn't wait for the glares from the Gryffindors — they came daily, whether he bothered to support their side of an argument or not. It wasn't worth his time to be kind to them anymore. A single year had proven that. "Now, take your seats. The seventh-years need a simple sleeping draught made for their class tomorrow — they're learning combination potions. You should remember this from your second year classes with Professor Flamel. There are seven of you, so... each of you need to make three batches before you leave this evening. No talking." 

Ignoring the moans at his command — simple sleeping draughts took up to an hour or more to make — Severus turned and swept up to the front of the classroom, depositing Harry on the teacher's desk. "Now, I've a stack of papers to grade. Do you... er... what do you want to do?"

Harry frowned. "I want Mum Pomfrey. She isn't mean to me."

"Madame Pomfrey is busy." Severus sighed, sitting on the edge of the desk beside his charge. "I'm sorry, but you're stuck with me until the emergency is over. Now — do you want a picture book? Or a card game?"

The little boy wrinkled his nose. "I can't read. I don't know how to play cards."

Of course he couldn't read. He was only four. Severus picked Harry up again and rounded the desk before setting him back on the edge. "Well, you could draw. Do you like to draw?" Harry's frantic nodding was enough to push Severus into action. Almost desperate to destract the child, Severus transfigured a few crayons from his broken quills and presented Harry with a spare sheet of parchment. "There... you can sit at a desk up here... you could draw Madame Pomfrey."

Severus reached to pick Harry up, but the boy shook his head. "No."

"Erm... no what?" Severus froze again. This was proving to be much, much harder than he'd expected. Over Harry's shoulder, he caught sight of Lestrange and Eck laughing at him. "Get back to work, over there," Severus snapped, before turning his gaze back to Harry. He pulled a stack of second-year essays from the top drawer of the desk and set it beside Harry's piece of parchment, setting up the space for writing. Only Harry's bum was in the way. "You don't want to draw Madame Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't wanna sit in the desk."

At that, Severus drew a blank. "Well... where do you want to sit?" Not entirely of his own accord, the Potions Master sunk into his own desk chair — soft black leather, worn in just the right places.

Smiling coyly, Harry climbed off the desk and onto Severus' lap. He grabbed the crayons and started scribbling away happily before Severus could do so much as protest. There wasn't much to be done, however. At least Harry was silent... Severus sighed softly and did his best to blot his quill pen and mark all over the first essay (Brandon Hunter, a Ravenclaw) the best he could with only one hand.

It wasn't so terrible, especially when Harry presented him with a scribble that was meant to be Severus himself, and promptly fell asleep curled up on Severus' lap. Something would have to be done about the students, however — the rumor would protect Harry, but leave Severus open for more rumors than he needed. The year was still young.

+

Minerva peeked over Albus' shoulder into the Potions dungeon. Just as Charlie had reported, Severus was slumped in his favourite leather chair — salvaged from the ruins of the Snape Manorhouse — with the small figure of Harry Potter curled up happily on his lap. It was quite touching: the boy resembled the man enough, with their similarly dark hair and lanky frames, that any student passing by would believe them to be father and son. And at least seven students had. She'd nearly laughed aloud when the three Gryffindor fourth-years came pelting into the office, demanding to know how long Snape's child had been romping around the castle.

Albus had been even more amused by it, apparently, as his response to the three was a quirky smile and a smug, "Oh, Harry's not been here long." Severus would be raging when he heard the news. Now all the Gryffindors thought Snape was a father.

It was time for the potion, however, which was the reason Minerva had seen fit to venture into the dungeons. She avoided them as much as possible — the damp sent an ache into her bones — but this was occasion for it. It was time to find Harry a home.

"Severus, wake up," Albus murmured, struggling to kneel by the young man's side. Albus patted his hand in the same manner he'd used with Henry Potter when Minerva had been a schoolgirl, and with James Potter after the death of all he'd held dear. To Minerva's surprise, it looked as though Albus had picked up yet another stray child. Why he'd chosen a character as sinister as Severus could be debated... but on second thought, Severus' life had been bleaker than Henry's ever would've been. Albus could yet redeem the young man. Minerva finally saw the reason for the deep regard Albus held Severus in — it seemed Albus had obtained yet another son.

And maybe this one, he wouldn't destroy utterly.

It wasn't the time for dark thoughts, however. Severus woke, yawning and glaring around the room. "What happened to the students? Their detention isn't done until -"

"Charlie Weasley found me and informed me that you'd passed out at your desk, grading papers, with your son on your lap. Is that what you told them?" Minerva couldn't help her smile. Severus looked much more uncomfortable than usual, as he shifted in his chair. Harry murmured nonsense in his sleep and wound his fingers around Severus' collar, insuring the man wouldn't leave.

Severus blushed brightly, turning his face from Albus mainly, and Minerva secondly. In that gesture, Minerva saw echoes of the young boy who skulked shyly in the shadows, afraid of being the center of attention. "I fell asleep during the detention? Professor Dumbledore, I -"

"Albus, dear boy. For the last time — Albus." The old man murmured. "I'll not accept that kind of formality from you. Now... there's nothing to be ashamed of. I assume you lost a great deal of sleep last night with thoughts of loss? The boy brings such thoughts in even the wisest of us." Albus smiled briefly. "It's time to use that potion of yours, Severus. Harry needs a family, and now."

"It's on the first table over there, in the ink pot," Severus replied. He very obviously wasn't moving, due to the child holding him firmly in place. "All it needs is the final ingredient. A drop of Harry's blood, to personalise and make it work. However, I don't really fancy cutting the child..."

Minerva frowned. "He'll need to be awake to give permission. So wake him up."

Despite her brusque command, Severus did so. He rocked Harry lightly, whispering his name in such a tender manner that Minerva was unsure of the Potions Master's identity. Severus Snape played many roles, but never that of caring. Finally, Harry's eyes flickered open and he frowned up at Severus. "Wannasleep," the little boy grumbled, tightening his hold on Severus' collar. 

A rare smile flickered across Severus' haggard features. "You can go back to sleep in a moment... I need your help for some magic, though."

With that, Harry perked up immediately. "I get to do magic?" he grinned, peering up at Snape from beneath fringes of black hair, mussed with sleep. "Do I get a wand?"

"No, not yet," Albus broke in. Harry finally seemed to notice him, and his eyes widened. Most people found Albus' presence infinitely calming, but Harry didn't seem to — just as in the hospital wing, he cringed back and buried his face in Severus' shoulder. Albus gave a barely audible sigh and drew back before continuing. "We are trying to find a new family for you. Relatives for you to live with."

Harry shook visibly and clung to Severus so tightly that the dark man was winded. He mumbled something so low that Minerva missed it entirely — Albus seemed to as well, as he sent a questioning glance up at Severus. "He doesn't want to return to his aunt and uncle," Severus translated. Though slightly delayed, Severus' response to Harry's hug came anyways — after speaking, he wrapped the boy in his arms and rocked him slowly. "You won't go back to them, Harry," he whispered. "I won't let anyone send you back to them."

"Different relatives," Albus broke in, trying to recover the situation. "Magical ones. But we have to do a spell first, to find them, and we need your help to do it."

He peeked out of the (now sodden) folds of Severus' robe. "What do I do?"

"We need a drop of your blood," Albus explained patiently. "The blood is the final component of the spell. It helps to triangulate the position of those matching your genetic code."

"What?" Harry whispered, staring blankly. Minerva couldn't help but chuckle as Severus bent his mouth beside Harry's ear and whispered, "We need the blood to find people. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Albus looked abashed. It was easy to view the boy as being much older than five. The seriousness of his manner placed him closer to a young ten or eleven — nearly ready for Hogwarts, and grown up far too young. He certainly didn't look more than four — but his eyes, naïve and old at the same time — broke Minerva's heart every time he looked in her direction. Harry pursed his lips, an admittedly amusing expression on a five-year-old's face, and looked up at Severus, then nodded solemnly and stretched out a delicate hand. The other remained wrapped around Severus' collar.

"I'll just prick your finger tip and catch the drop of blood in this little vial, right?" Albus explained, tugging over a desk chair and lifting the ink vial full of the potion from the desk. He pulled a small dagger from his pocket — Minerva wondered, for a moment, if he always carried it around — and sliced across the child's finger before he could change his mind.

There was just enough time to catch the first drop of blood before Harry let out a howl and pulled his finger away, sticking it into his mouth. "Stir twice, anti-clockwise," Severus commanded. "Minerva, there's a little first-aid kit on the shelf in the back. Harry needs a plaster for that." 

Distressed by the little boy's screams — Minerva hadn't borne a child and was less than familiar with the temperments of children younger than eleven — she made a dash for the shelf before the wails could bring any concerned students near. When she turned back, however, the scene wrenched her heart yet again. Albus was off to the side, watching the potion. Severus was rocking the boy in his lap, his robes wrapped around the injured finger, other arm holding him close, and cheek resting on a mop of messy black hair. What was it about Harry that elicited such a tender response from the least parental of men? "The plaster," she offered quietly. She wondered about that, too — it was a completely Muggle artefact in the room of a supposedly Muggle-hating man.

Severus took it, however, and wrapped it around Harry's finger. The cut, which appeared to have already been healed by Severus while her back was turned, nonetheless needed a plaster to comfort a little Muggle-raised boy. A band-aid made everything better.

And so it did. Harry's wails trailed off into whimpers and he stuck his face back into the shoulder of Severus' robes. For once, he didn't seem to mind the wetness and snot inevitable from such a position, and (if it was even possible) held the child tighter. "It's done, Harry," he whispered. "I promise... all done..."

"Now what do I do with it?" Albus asked, breaking in to the tender moment. 

Harry cringed at the voice. "Find one of my quills," Severus answered. "Dip the pen in the potion and then let it fall on a blank sheet of paper. The current locations of all Harry's close relatives — magical, I assure you — will arrange themselves on the paper. The first location will be here — Harry's location — followed by the next closest relative." Severus finished explaining and adjusted Harry in his grip, lifting the boy into his arms in order to stand from the chair. "Legs are asleep," he explained, beginning to pace around the room. Harry peeked over his shoulder and glared at Dumbledore, ducking down again when Severus paced back in the older man's direction.

Albus sighed deeply and fumbled for a quill, following Severus' directions to the letter. Minerva stood at his shoulder, but as the ink slowly bled across the paper, she looked up to watch Harry. Severus rocked him still, and seemed to be almost... singing? She took a closer glance — and, indeed, Severus Snape, former Death Eater, was humming a barely audible lullaby. 

Albus had been right. Harry was just what Severus needed.

The Headmaster cleared his throat, grabbing Minerva's attention, and she glanced down at the parchment on the table. The first entry, Harry's own, was specific enough: "Potions Dungeon, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Scotland, UK, Europe." However, the second was identical. Minerva frowned — Harry's closest relative was standing in the room with them? Well, it could be Minerva herself, seeing as her brother Theseus would've been next of kin before Theseus' death in '82... if that was so, then the next address on the list should be the home of Minerva's mother, on the Isle of Skye.

"Parlor, Thermopolis home, Athens, Greece, Europe," Minerva muttered. "I don't know anyone in Greece..."

Severus looked up, distracted. "What about Greece? My great-uncle lives in Greece."

"Severus' mother's brother is called Ricaldo Thermopolis... he's a professor of Charm Theory at Athens' Herodotos University," Albus murmured. "Severus, you're Harry's closest living relative."

He stopped short, jaw dropped in shock. "I'm... Headmaster, that's impossible. I'm related, but certainly not that closely -"

"There could've been a scandal in James' family at some point along the line," Minerva put in. "It's certainly happened before, and families with Dark connections generally aren't known for their matrimonial faithfulness."

"Shh, Harry's dozed off," Severus muttered, keeping the child cradled close to him. "Minerva, there's a bottle of nightshade and a basket of dried thistles on the shelf right next to you — make sure to get the Scottish thistles — if you'll add just a pinch of the ground nightshade and four thistles, that same potion will give the relation of Harry to me — it seemed that getting the addresses was the best choice, since the potion won't give a name -"

"Be calm, Severus," Albus murmured. Minerva grabbed the ingredients and followed Snape's instructions, taking the Headmaster's seat as he crossed to the sleeping boy and the distressed teacher. "We know you're the closest relative, now... will you take care of Harry? He needs you."

Severus shook his head wildly. "He doesn't need _me_, he needs a responsible parent -"

Minerva cleared her throat hesitantly. "You know, Severus, Harry was conceived in October of 1979 -"

"NO," he hissed, cradling Harry's head to his chest to muffle the noise a little. "She wouldn't have kept something like that -"

"I don't understand," Albus murmured.

"It's not something I want divulged -" Snape whispered.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but it's important! Albus needs to know. And the truth will come out the moment the ink hits the parchment, anyways..." Minerva sighed and dipped the pen into the swirling purple potion. 

Severus crossed to the desk, leaving Albus staring from behind, and dropped back into his leather chair. Harry whimpered and snuggled more deeply into the young man's grip. "I won't tell unless I have to. She swore me to secrecy, and I keep my word — keep yours."

There was a long pause before Minerva sighed and nodded. Albus was at Severus' shoulder, face full of curiosity, as the pen hovered over a new parchment. The drop fell.

"Father," Albus read off, as Minerva stared in horror. Severus' face was impassive, but his hands gave him away. Usually precise and steady, they shook as Severus lifted one to push his hair from his face. "Severus... why didn't you tell me?" Albus whispered.

"Why would I tell you about Lily's infidelity?" Severus hissed. "She didn't tell me she was pregnant! I never thought — everyone said that Harry looked just like James, so I assumed -" He broke off and stared down at the little boy dozing silently in his arms. "He's my son..."

Albus' face was white — Minerva wasn't sure whether it was anger or fear. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

Minerva stood and grabbed Albus' shoulder. Severus didn't seem to be paying attention to either of them, a shocked expression frozen on his face. "Let's leave them," she whispered. Before Albus could protest, she took hold of his arm and dragged him toward the door. They were left, father and son.


	5. The Students

A/N: Here you are, the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 4 – The Students

Severus heard Minerva round on Albus with a yell as the door closed, but his mind was frozen by the echo of green eyes. As if alerted by his shock, the little boy – his son – yawned and opened his eyes, frowning over at the door. "They're loud," he whined. "They're louder than Uncle Vernon."

How was he supposed to respond to that? "Well, I'm sure they'll leave soon. Erm... are you hungry?" Severus' gaze flickered to the clock situated near the door to his office. It was almost time for the elves to serve supper in the Great Hall. Bringing Harry onto the scene would start rumors... but the rumors were truth, anyway. 

"I want chocolate digestives," Harry demanded, climbing off of Severus' lap and opening the closest drawer. It was full of broken quills and graded essays – Harry took the feather end of one of the quills and peered at it. "Did a bird die? You have lots of feathers."

"No bird was harmed in the making of that quill," Severus joked – but, five years old, Harry didn't quite get it. 

Instead, he poked the feather back into the drawer and kept rummaging through the others. "Can't I have chocolate digestives? Aunt Petunia always gave them to Dudley, but she never let me have them, but sometimes the teachers at school would let us have them for a snack."

"I don't have any, I'm afraid," Severus said. He grabbed one of Harry's shoulders and drew him back from the desk lightly. "Harry, did your aunt and uncle tell you what happened to your mum and dad?" Harry frowned and made a grab for something shiny in an open drawer, and Severus closed it sharply. "Harry, this is very important."

Harry pouted and shugged. "Aunt Petunia said they died in a car crash. That's why I have a scar on my head. And Uncle Vernon said they were bums. And that they were freaks – but they weren't freaks, were they?"

"No, they weren't," he murmured. "And Aunt Petunia lied to you. They didn't die in a car crash. Your mum was killed by a very evil man, but she saved your life. She was a hero." 

He hadn't been sure if a five-year-old's mind could comprehend that sort of information – after all, the youngest children he'd been aquainted with were eleven – but Harry's eyes widened slowly. "Mum was a hero? Was Dad a hero, too?"

Severus froze. He could lie, pretend that James actually was the boy's father... why lie, though? Someone had to care for the child. He wasn't sure how he'd bring up a child, but it was his duty. He could do his best to make sure that Harry's life didn't turn into an echo of his own. Severus cleared his throat. "Erm... not quite a hero." He hesitated as some of the light bled from Harry's features. "You see, Harry... I'm your dad."

With barely a pause for breath, Harry demanded, "Why did you make me live with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?"

"I didn't know you were there," Severus said truthfully. "If I'd known... God, if anyone had told me the truth, I'd have been there in a heartbeat. There's so much that I can't explain. I don't even know the whole story. I'm so sorry, Harry."

His face scrunched up in thought, as if deciding whether or not to take the story as truth, before he scrambled back onto Severus' lap for a hug. "Hi, Daddy," he whispered.

"Hi, Harry," Severus whispered back. "I'm glad you're here."

Harry nodded and pulled back from the hug. A hint of a smile appeared on his face. "Can I please have some chocolate digestives?"

He couldn't help but laugh. Sweeping Harry into another hug, he stood from the chair and headed for the door. "We'll see what we can do about that."

+

"That kid's with him again," Charlie hissed, straining to see over the top of Melissa's head. The little boy – he couldn't be more than three or four – was sitting on the professor's lap and munching on a very large pile of chocolate digestives that Charlie had watched Snape steal from the end of the Slytherin table. "Bill, did you know that Snape has a kid?"

Charlie's older brother, who'd been flirting with a Hufflepuff sixth-year at the table behind them, turned around sharply. "He what -?" A long, impassive gaze was sent up at the High Table before Bill shook his head. "There's no way. Well, the kid looks just like him – the little bugger has to be a cousin or something. Severu- erm, Professor Snape didn't have a girlfriend when I knew him in his seventh year. Peter told me he'd dated Lily Evans for a bit before she ended up with James Potter... umm, there were rumors he dated the woman who married Lucius Malfoy, but I only heard it third-hand. I suppose there were five years in there that I didn't know him, but I met up with him in Diagon Alley in '82, and he was alone -"

"He called him Harry," Melissa said. "Do you think he might be Harry Potter? Natalie's uncle was attacked – he was an Auror, do you think maybe he was protecting Harry Potter, and now he's been brought here? Wasn't the Auror who came running in one of James Potter's friends?" As a Muggleborn, Melissa had fallen in love with the tale of Lily Evans, the Muggleborn who'd married the handsome son of Henry Potter, Auror extraordinaire. She desperately wanted to meet the Boy Who Lived, if only to say she'd met Lily Evans' son. 

Bill gave a snort and shook his head. "Mel, you've seen enough pictures of James Potter – that kid up there is pure Snape. Yes, he has green eyes... well so does my aunt Julia, and she's obviously not Harry Potter."

"But he's the right age!" 

"I knew James. Not well, but he was Head Boy my first year – everybody knew James. If that's James' son, I'll eat my Head Boy badge. Now, leave the poor Professor alone – he's been falsely accused of enough in his life, alright?" Bill glared at the fourth-years and turned back to the Hufflepuff girl with an apology.

Charlie scowled and rose from his seat to take a good look at the child again. "It's gotta be Snape's kid. Uh oh -" He sat down quickly and ducked his head behind the row of Gryffindors on the other side of the table.

"Did he see you?" Phillip demanded. "Damn, I bet he's in a terrible mood, if he has to watch some kid. Do you think you could push me down the stairs so I'll be too injured to go to class tomorrow?"

"Only if you push me first," Melissa countered. "He has it in for me. It's because my mum spilled ice cream on his robes in Diagon Alley, I'm sure of it!"

"Honestly, Mel, that's ridiculous," Becca Wood shot in. She was only a third-year, but was an excellent Chaser anyways. "He's cruel, not vindictive. It's because you're Muggleborn – everyone knows he was a Death Eater. My uncle said that it was Dumbledore who got him out of Azkaban. I think they must be related."

Melissa gave a snort and poked at her supper. "That's just a rumor. Dumbledore wouldn't let a Death Eater walk free. Hey, maybe he was married to Dumbledore's granddaughter and she mysteriously died – that would be why the kid's here, and why Dumbledore helped him out of Azkaban! They had a secret love affair in the Alps, but Snape had to leave her to return to England and help with the war efforts – that's why he's so snarky; it's because his lover died before he could return to her with news of the victory of the Light!"

"You've been reading romance novels again," Charlie said accusingly. "Honestly, you're almost fifteen – you shouldn't be reading crap like that anymore. Think how much better you'd be on your broom if you spent all that time practicing!"

"I like my romance novels," Melissa sniffed, turning up her nose. "They're more enjoyable than those ridiculous Sport magazines you and Phillip subscribe to."

Phillip held up his hands and leaned back. "Hey, watch it – I didn't say anything about the crap- er, romance novels."

"Don't insult my Quidditch Weekly. Fine reading it is," Charlie countered. "C'mon, let's get back to the Common Room. I've got Potions homework for tomorrow, and I'm not facing Mr. Crabby after a sleepless night with a baby."

"He's not a baby, he's probably four or five!" Becca exclaimed, but she was on her feet even before Charlie. Phillip was just positive that Becca fancied Charlie – he'd denied it, but it seemed the Beater was probably right. 

They were half-way across the Entrance Hall before Dina Lestrange caught up with them. "Weasley – does your brother know who the kid is?" she demanded.

She came alone. It probably wasn't a trap, then, so Charlie stopped, letting the three others back him up in case of a fight. Slytherin-Gryffindor meetings often degenerated into such, especially in the wake of the Troubles. "He doesn't," Charlie said cautiously. "I thought you'd know, being of his House and all. He's the one the Auror came running in with, right? No one's certain."

"He's the same kid," Dina confirmed. "I was sitting at the end of the table when the Auror came in. Matt thought he might be Harry Potter from the look on old McGonagall's face -" she winced, eyes haunted by some unknown guilt "- but I guess he's not. I thought your brother might know if Snape was seeing someone..."

Charlie shook his head. "No information from that end. He told me to bugger off. But the kid's name is Harry. I guess it's a rather common name..."

"Yeah, like Prince Harry," Melissa stuck in, seeming desperate to be in on the conversation. "There are plenty of Harrys around. For all we know, it's just a diminuative for something, anyways. The Auror Henry Potter was known as Harry -"

Dina cut her off before she could go into Pottermaniac mode. "Look, if you hear anything – I'd ask my parents, but -" She stopped short, the look of guilt entering her face again. "I'll tell you if you'll tell me," she finally finished, offering a hand to Charlie. "I'm desperate to know what's going on. If that's Harry Potter..." she shook her head, hand still extended. "I hope it's not."

Phillip's eyes were narrowed, but Charlie took Dina's hand anyway. "It's a deal. Any information will be passed along. I want to know what's up as much as you do."

"Maybe not that much," Dina countered, drawing her hand away. "See you in Potions." She turned and stalked off.

Phillip waited until she'd rounded the corner before turning on Charlie. "What in Merlin's name are you thinking? Did you see her face – there's something else going on! Everyone's tossing around the name Potter. What's happened that we don't know about?"

"I don't know," Charlie murmured, "but I think my dad will..." He turned and took the stairs two at a time, destination dead set on the Owlery. The mystery would be solved, soon enough...

+

Meanwhile, at the Head Table, Harry was busying himself with climbing all over Daddy's lap to get at the biscuits on the table and, after he'd had his fill, scurrying up and down behind the table to offer them to the grown-ups sitting there. Daddy thought it was funny, especially when Harry left a stack of chocolate digestives on Aunt Min's chair, with the chocolate side up so she'd be certain to see how good they were, when she went off to the loo. Harry tried very hard to hide from the man with the beard – the one who cut up his hand until it bled. He was scary, but Aunt Min was nice, even if she did look at Daddy funny when he started laughing after she sat on all the nice digestives.

Harry tiptoed around the big chair that the old man sat in – he had a name, but Harry was too scared to ask what to call him – and scurried around the chair of the lady who wore more perfume than Aunt Petunia when the neighbors came for tea and past the little man who wasn't any taller than Harry until he came to the biggest person Harry had ever seen. Mum Pomfrey had taken Harry to tea with Hagrid. There hadn't been any chocolate digestives, and the scones that Hagrid made tasted icky, but Hagrid took Harry walking along the lake, and they saw the squid. "Do you want a chocolate digestive?" Harry asked, offering a stack.

Hagrid beamed and pulled Harry up onto his lap. "Al'ays love a good digestive," Hagrid boomed. 

Harry giggled. Daddy called Hagrid a big, hairy oaf, and he certainly was big and hairy, but Harry didn't know what an oaf was. Hagrid had a big dog, too, and Harry loved dogs. Anyone with a dog had to be good. 

And suddenly, Harry was distracted by a ginger-haired boy who came up to the table and set an owl on the table in front of Hagrid. "I'm sorry to bother you, Hagrid, but Errol's not looking so good – he's been sort of limp since Mum sent me a letter yesterday. He's six years old, already, so he's not the youngest of creatures -"

"Doan' mind it, Bill. If I was you, I'd jes take im over to the Menagerie at the weekend. Ain't that ol' yet." Hagrid grinned and patted the owl on the head, squashing Harry against the arm of the chair.

Harry, for that matter, was too enthralled by the owl to take much notice. The owl was blinking and looking at Harry, and he scooted to the front of Hagrid's rather large lap to get closer to it. The closest he'd ever been to a real animal was when Aunt Marge brought her smelly dogs – they weren't proper dogs, so he didn't have to like her – when she'd stayed for the week. "He won't bite," the older boy said suddenly, reaching out to grab Harry's hand and direct him to the owl. A day was hardly enough to change the reflex in Harry's brain, however – a hand grabbing was a bad thing, that usually led to a smack. Harry cringed away and scrambled off of Hagrid's lap.

Bill's eyes narrowed and he stared at Harry's forehead. Harry ducked behind the nearest chair – the little man's – to hide. He pushed down the hair on his forehead deliberately. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't like to see the scar. They thought it was ugly. 

The older boy had rounded Hagrid's chair and was coming closer, but Harry felt himself swept up into a pair of increasinly-familiar arms before the boy could smack him for trying to touch the owl. "Daddy!" he squealed, hiding his face in Daddy's black coat so that Bill would go away.

Daddy and Bill started talking though. "May I help you, Mr. Weasley?" Daddy asked.

"So that _is_ your kid?" Harry didn't like the way Bill sounded, so he turned his face around and glared at Bill. He wouldn't stick his tongue out, though – he would save that until Bill said something really bad. Daddy sounded like he didn't like Bill, so Harry wouldn't either. "I'm sorry, but it looked sort of like he had a scar on his -"

"This is my son, and it's none of your business," Daddy snapped. "Get back to the Gryffindor table or I may take points – and take care you don't gossip."

Bill frowned. "I'm not the one gossiping. It's rather uncommon for professors to bring their children around. There are all sorts of theories floating around in Gryffindor that don't even bear repeating – one of Charlie's friends started making up stories about mad love affairs in Venice. You might want to quell some of those, Severus."

Daddy was scowling even more. "You might be Head Boy, but proper respect should be owed to Professors -"

Bill slammed his hand on the table, and Hagrid looked worried. "Sorry, _sir_, but that would probably be easier if I hadn't gone to school with you -"

"Gentlemen, there's no need to row," a voice said from behind them. Harry turned around and saw the old man with the beard standing next to Daddy, and before he could cringe away, the old man patted him on the head. It felt all tingly, as if the man had done something magic to him. Harry whimpered and ducked his head behind Daddy's shoulder. "Now then, Mr. Weasley, go on back to your Common Room."

There were footsteps, and Harry turned his head to watch Bill go out of the hall. "Harry, Professor Dumbledore isn't going to hurt you," Daddy said.

Harry glared at Professor Dumbledore over Daddy's shoulder. "He cut my finger," Harry hissed, "and he just did magic to my head!"

"I used a glamour to hide the scar," Professor Dumbledore said. "It was too close, Severus. There are some steps we must take... and legalities to set... if you'll find someone to watch Harry...?" Professor Dumbledore looked sad, but Harry still thought he was dangerous.

"In a moment," Daddy said. He walked over to the giant window looking out of the hall and let Harry sit on the sill. "Do you know what your whole name is?"

Harry frowned. "Of course I know what my name is. What's your whole name, Daddy?"

"Severus Thermopolis Snape. Which means that your whole name is..." Daddy leaned forward and poked Harry in the stomach, making him giggle.

"Aunt Petunia said it was Harry Potter, but aren't I supposed to have the same last name as you? Because you're my Daddy? Dudley's last name is the same as Uncle Vernon's." Harry thought Snape sounded silly, but it was Daddy's name, so he supposed it was his, too.

Daddy smiled and nodded. "Exactly. Aunt Petunia had it wrong. She was lying. And Harry's just a nickname, did you know that? A short name for a short person." Daddy winked.

Harry giggled. "I have a short name? Aunt Petunia never said my name was short."

"Herodos Iamus Snape. That's your whole name. It's Greek."

"Ew." Harry didn't know what Greek was, but what kind of name was Herodos? It was sillier than Snape!

Daddy snickered. "Well, that's why you have a short name, isn't it. Harry's a good nickname. But when someone asks what your whole name is, that's what you answer."

"Well of course it is," Harry said. If that was his whole name, he'd have to use it, even if it was silly and Greek. Dudley didn't like his name either. "Will you let me play with Aunt Min?"

"She's busy. But maybe you'd like to go play with some of my students? They're older than you, but they can show you all kinds of fun magical games that I know you've never seen before. Exploding Snap is fun. It's a card game – they'll teach you it." Daddy held out his arms.

After frowning and thinking about it for a minute, Harry nodded and let Daddy pick him up again. He was too big to get picked up, but Daddy didn't mind, and Uncle Vernon always used to carry Dudley around before Dudley got so heavy that Uncle Vernon couldn't pick him up... Harry liked being carried, because he knew that Dudley couldn't be.


	6. The Scar

A/N: Many apologies for the long lapse – it's finals time at my college and I'm swimming in papers. There's a bow to the sitcom in which the woman who played Madame Hooch stars, "My Family" — see if you can pick it out!

Chapter 5 – The Scar

Dina collapsed into a leather chair beside the fire in the Slytherin Common Room and shook her head. "No luck. Weasley's brother doesn't know anything."

Matt and Marin groaned, and Julienne kicked at a balled-up essay on the floor. "Merlin, this is difficult. But he really couldn't be Harry Potter, could he?"

"I'm sure I saw a scar on his forehead when we were in detention," Matt reported. "Jules, he _could_ be Harry Potter, I'm sure of it. But what if he is? What do we do?"

Dina knew exactly what her parents would do. They'd drag the child off in a broom cupboard and insure he never saw the light of day. And isn't that what she should do? After all, he was the cause of Lord Voldemort's downfall. But Voldemort was gone, shouldn't they be moving on...? Except they'd never be moving on. Her parents were in Azkaban. "Hasn't he caused Slytherin enough trouble already? And it's Snape carrying him around – Snape wouldn't carry Harry Potter around like that. Mum and Dad served with him, he was one of us."

"What's happening to your parents?" Marin asked. "Father -"

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Professor Snape interrupted. Dina jerked around and studied his expression while trying to hide her own – how much of the last bit had he heard? "I need a few of you to watch Harry for a bit. I told him you'd show him how to play Exploding Snap."

Matt was the first one out of his chair. "We'd be glad to, Professor. We could take him outside, too. It's not that cold yet. Does he have a cloak?"

"Get Flaherty to transfigure one," Snape commanded. "She's particularly good at that. I'll be back in an hour or so, alright, Harry?" He set the child down on one of the Slytherin-green couches and ruffled his hair. "If they're mean, kick them."

Snape grinned at the child, and the child grinned back.

Dina tried not to let her shock show, but Matt and Marin weren't able to keep it in. Snape... grinning? Ergh. Snape wasn't supposed to grin. Snape never did anything even close to grinning. Snape was a sallow, brooding man, forced to become a teacher after the fall of the Dark Lord... right? And then Snape's smile disappeared – he frowned at the Slytherins and swept out of the room in his usual dramatic manner.

Harry sat on the couch and stared at the Slytherins. Dina stared back. It was Matt who finally broke the silence. "Erm... I'm Matt. Dina's over there, this is Marin, and this is Jules. And you are...?"

Clearly, Matt was trying to get all the information from the boy that Snape was hiding. The boy, however, didn't appear to be forthcoming. "Harry," he said calmly, and started kicking his heels against the couch.

"No, your full name," Matt said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"Well, you didn't tell me yours," Harry countered. He scowled and crossed his arms, kicking his heels against the couch even harder.

There was no denying it. The kid had to be Snape's. "Matthew Marcus Eck," Matt said. Obviously, he wasn't giving up on it.

"Herodos Iamus Snape," the boy said. "It's Greek."

Matthew looked depressed – he'd desperately wanted to take revenge on the Potter boy. Marin and Julienne didn't seem to care much. Marin was leafing through the newest _Which Broomstick?_ catalogue, and Julienne had her Potions text on her lap. "Alright, let's go outside," Dina sighed. "Matt?"

"So you're _not_ Harry Potter?" Matt demanded of the boy.

He wrinkled his nose, but not before jerking in some sort of recognition. "I'm not. Daddy said Aunt Petunia's a liar."

Matt's eyes narrowed, but Dina crossed the room and held out a hand to Harry before the Slytherin boy could demand more information. "C'mon, Harry – I'll show you a secret passage. So Professor Snape is your dad?"

Harry glared at Matt – it was rather funny, as he looked to be a miniature Snape – and jumped to his feet. "Of course he's my daddy. And he said he wouldn't have left me with Aunt Petunia if he'd had a choice."

"Right... um, I'll take you down to the Quidditch Pitch..." He was a funny little boy, Dina thought, but at least he was adorable. He grabbed her hand and she led him from the Slytherin Common Room, the pair followed by a suspicious-looking Matt.

+

"You left him with Slytherins?" Minerva demanded. She was seated across from Albus and next to Severus in the Headmaster's office, along with one of Albus' relations, who worked for the Department of Records.

"And why shouldn't I?" Severus countered, glaring. "He's my son, I'll leave him with my House whenever the need arises!"

"He's not an ordinary child, Severus – he might be your son, but he's also the savior of the wizarding world!" Minerva exclaimed. And not just the savior – he was also the target of the very people the Potions Master left him with. "What if they find out who he is? Do you honestly think he'll be safe with them?"

Severus snorted. "They'll be safer than with your pack of rule-breakers. I trust Miss Lestrange implicitly, despite her parentage. There are a few I wouldn't leave Harry with... but those few can be watched."

Minerva shook her head. "Most of them would kill the boy the moment -"

"Severus is his father," Albus said softly. Sadly, almost. "It is Severus' choice. I doubt the boy would be comfortable here, anyways. Now, Severus... we need to change his name, legally, and close the file. Then, until the time he attends Hogwarts, he'll live a normal life."

"He can't grow up at Hogwarts," Minerva put in. She'd seen it tried – and look at what happened to Susan Hooch's children! The eldest became a cross-dressing mini-cab driver, the second spent all her time hiding in the Muggle world, and the youngest was a nymphomaniac. Hogwarts could do odd things to the very young. "And you're hardly suited for many other jobs. Everyone knows what you were accused of." It was harsh, but the boy was precious. Voldemort wasn't dead, only banished... the boy could end it all.

"He won't grow up here," Severus snapped, glaring darkly at Minerva. "I've owled my great uncle in Athens. His granddaughter has three children, one about Harry's age. Harry will live in Greece. I'll spend my weekends and holidays at the family home with him and, when he's eleven, he'll come to Hogwarts to be trained. Is that adequate?"

Before Minerva could object, Albus smiled. "Of course, Severus. I'm glad you intend to be a force in your son's life... it would be simple to leave him in Athens in your cousin's care for good."

"I won't be my father," Severus countered, softly.

Albus nodded and passed over a packet of papers. "The change of name form is in there. I've filled out the paternity test results and Mr. White has signed them. Also, the request to close the file – the moment we're done here, only you will have access to it. Harry Potter will disappear into oblivion."

"Disappear until he's eleven," she muttered. "He'll hate it, Albus... one day, a normal child, the next, expected to destroy a Dark Lord. How will he cope with being illegitimate?"

"He'll be fine. He'll know that he's my son, and that's all that matters." Severus took out the forms and signed each one. And then it was done. Harry Potter had ceased to exist, and only Herodos Snape stood in his place.

+

"And Aunt Petunia was really mean. She liked Dudley better than me. Uncle Vernon locked me in the cupboard, though. They said only freaks could do magic, and mum was a freak. Granpa and Gemma couldn't do magic, but they said it was okay. But then they died, Aunt Petunia said," Harry babbled as they walked along. He was bundled up in a Slytherin-green cloak, borrowed from a short first-year, and marched along happily, hand in hand with Dina. Along the way, bits of his life were coming together.

He'd lived with abusive Muggles, related to his mother. His mother was a Muggleborn, oddly enough – and he'd been taken from his father and hidden. His mother was dead and a hero... the little bits of information weren't enough to piece together everything, but it sounded as though he was illegitimate, and perhaps unwanted. Whatever the case, Professor Snape would be sure to take care of his son, now. "Well, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were the freaks, if they couldn't do magic. It's their loss, the great bloody Muggles," Dina proclaimed. "It would be poetic justice if your cousin ended up being able to do magic."

Harry frowned and itched at his forehead. "What's potic justice?"

Dina sighed. He was five, after all – he just acted older than his age. "Not important. Hey, do you want to see the squid? Matt, throw something in the lake, make the squid come by!"

"This is a waste of my time," Matt grumbled, hurling a rock at the still water anyways. "He's just a kid, he's of no use."

"He'll be a Slytherin some day," Dina predicted, "and then he'll be one of us. Isn't that right, Harry?"

"What's a Slytherin?" Harry asked. He sat down on the edge of the lake, disengaging his hand from Dina's, and stuck his fingers in the water.

"It's the best House at school," Dina said, taking a place beside him. "All the cunning people end up there, like me and your dad. When you're eleven, you'll get to go to school here, and you'll get put into a House too. I wonder what House your mum was in?"

Harry shrugged. "Daddy said she was a hero." He scratched at his forehead again.

Dina frowned as Matt started skipping stones. "Is something wrong with your head?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore did something magic to me when Daddy was yelling at Bill for being mean to me. It's all itchy. I don't like it." Harry wrinkled his nose and scratched a little more.

"Here, move your hand," Dina commanded, pulling her wand from her pocket. "_Finite Incantatem_..." she murmured as she touched the wand's tip to the itchy spot. What she saw made her stop short. "Oh my God... Matt...?"

"What is it? Can't you even perform a simple..." Matt trailed off as he stared at the boy's forehead. "What do we do?" he hissed. "The professor – he's harboring Harry Potter -"

Harry scowled, a perfect copy of Professor Snape's face. "I'm not Harry Potter. Daddy said Aunt Petunia was lying."

Dina finally worked past her shock. "We do nothing, he's Snape's kid -"

"Snape was the mole," Matt hissed, reaching for his wand. "My dad told me all about the end... someone warned the Potters, they did something that destroyed the Dark Lord, something that hinged on this boy – and it wasn't even Mr. Potter's son! That's the irony, isn't it! The tool of the Dark Lord's destruction was the son of a supposed Death Eater! But if he was a good follower, he'd already have killed the boy -"

"No!" Dina snapped. "Matt, he's just a kid, it wasn't his fault! His mum's already dead!"

"Your parents gave up their lives to take revenge! How can you sit there and protect the brat?" he spat.

Dina scrambled between Harry and the armed Slytherin. "That's enough! The Dark Lord was defeated -"

"He will never be defeated," Matt snarled. "And if your parents couldn't do it... then I'll be the one to take revenge."

Dina, unable to come up with a better option, grabbed up the boy and ran.

+

Severus had handed over the documents and was ready to continue arguments with Minerva over the subject of Harry's upbringing when Albus' kinsman turned away from the window. "Excuse me, Uncle... but there seems to be a disturbance outside..."

Albus rolled his chair back and peered out the window – a frown creased his face. "Severus, you'll be needed near Hagrid's hut. Minerva... could you bring Matthew Eck to me immediately?"

"What's wrong?" Severus demanded. "Mr. Eck is supposed to be watching Harry -"

"He's currently chasing Harry," Albus murmured. "I think your boy blew his own cover."

Severus was out of his seat and being followed by Minerva in mere moments. If they had one thing in common, it was a wish to see the boy in good hands. "Most are either studying or at Quidditch practice," Minerva called as Severus took the stairs two at a time down toward the foyer. "Just stun Eck! No one will see!"

"If it were my choice, I'd do more than stun him," Severus growled – but Minerva was too far away to hear him. He was out the front doors before a pair of Hufflepuff girls had time to question him and heading for the lake – the view from Albus' window. He caught sight of Eck in the distance and sent off a Stunning Hex, but his aim had always been truly horrible. Eck tripped in surprise, however, and gave Snape the chance he needed to gain on the boy. "Put your wand away, Mr. Eck! Where's my son?" Severus called.

Eck pulled to his feet but, instead of dropping his wand, turned it on his professor. "You traitor!" he spat, "My aunt lost her soul because of your son! She was loyal! How could you let that kid live?"

"Mr. Eck, put your wand down. You do realize you haven't a chance against me, correct? You're a fourth-year, and I know enough Dark spells to make your toes curl," Snape grumbled. "Now – where's my child?"

"You're weak, that's what you are," Eck continued, oblivious. "Not only did you sleep with a filthy Mudblood and get her knocked up, you didn't kill the child, and that child caused the demise of your lord!" He waved his wand around, threateningly. "You can kill me, but Dina knows the truth, as well! When she comes to her senses, she'd destroy the boy, just like her parents would have it! She's loyal!"

Severus aimed before Eck's reflexes had time to make him duck. "_Obliviate_," he hissed, and Matthew's face went blank. There would be plenty of time to deal with the aftermath later, when his child was safe. He ran on.

+

There was screaming coming from behind her. Thankfully, the boy was scared enough to take her advice – he hung around her neck like a cloak, whimpering softly, as Dina pelted toward safety. Hagrid's hut was only a few metres away, and Hagrid had been the first man on the scene after Sirius Black betrayed the Potters, he'd often said. If anyone would shelter Harry Potter, it was Hagrid.

"She's loyal!" Matt shouted, somewhere behind her. Who was loyal? Dina herself? If her parents knew she was hurtling across the Hogwarts campus, trying to save the life of Harry Potter, she'd be the one in peril. No, Dina certainly wasn't loyal to the Dark Lord, as much as her loyalties lay with Slytherin.

Hagrid's door opened and the man himself emerged, followed by a slim, tall figure with red hair. "Dina Lestrange?" the enormous figure of Hagrid called in confusion. "Tha' you? En't you supposed ta' be doin' homework?"

"Help!" she cried, doubling her efforts. "You have to help me – Matt's going to hurt Harry!" 

Weasley's older brother, the Head Boy, jumped down from behind Hagrid and met Dina halfway, holding open his arms to take her burden. "Here, Lestrange – what's going on?"

"Quick, get inside!" She was more than happy to allow Weasley to take Harry. "Matt Eck. He's behind me, he wants to kill Harry."

Hagrid narrowed his eyes, but Dina was too preoccupied to notice as Bill darted into Hagrid's hut and she followed. Harry started sniffling, and Bill lent him a shoulder to hide in. "Why does Eck want to hurt Snape's boy?" Bill demanded. On the old table in the middle of the hut was a dirty tea set and a stack of books on dangerous creatures. Obviously, Bill had been around for tea time.

"Look at his forehead," Dina snapped, bending over to catch her breath and cradle the stabbing pain in her side. 

"He's Harry Potter," Bill murmured dumbly. "Why's Severus watching him?"

Dina laughed. "He's Snape's son! Don't you get it...? Potter's wife was sleeping with Snape – the son of a Dark Wizard defeated the darkest wizard of all!"

And then the door of the hut banged open again. Dina threw herself between the boy and Eck – but Eck wasn't there. It was Severus Snape.

Harry disengaged himself from Bill and scurried across the room into Snape's arms. "Daddy!" he squealed. "They said I'm Harry Potter, but you said I'm not Harry Potter! And Matt isn't nice – he was yelling and he wants to hurt me!"

"I won't let him," Snape murmured, rocking the boy in his arms. Once again, Dina was shocked by the tenderness with which Snape treated his son. "You'll be safe, from everyone," he whispered.

"Is it true?" Dina demanded. "Did you and Mrs. Potter -"

"Lily was a brave, wonderful woman," Professor Snape broke in. "She died trying to save her son. She was a hero. And that's all Harry needs to know."

Harry didn't seem to think so, as he wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out, but Snape pressed a kiss to his son's head and ruffled his hair. "I promise that I'll tell you the whole story... it will only confuse you now. Your mother loved you and I love you very much," he whispered. The boy nodded slowly and hid his face.

Bill took a few steps toward the professor and, for just a moment, Dina could see confusion and something resembling compassion in the older man's eyes, though it was masked in moments. Weasley had seen it too, as he sighed and slid back into a chair. "Gods... you and Lily... Sev, why didn't you -? Sorry, pardon me. Professor," he spat, any trace of friendship gone. "Why are you hiding his scar? He doesn't look like James at all, of course – he looks a bit like Lily, but not enough to immediately connect the two. Anyone can see he's your son, Se- Professor."

"If they can't see the scar, they'll treat him no differently than anyone else. Harry Potter doesn't exist. Can the two of you keep that secret?" Snape's gaze rested mainly on Dina.

She answered first. "No one will know – but what about Matt? Ever since his aunt got the Dementor's Kiss, he's been cheering for the Dark Lord's return. I mean – since your son destroyed You Know Who, I guess you're not really on his side... right...?"

"Correct. But no one can know that either. This is a dangerous game, Dina. If you wish it, I'll obliviate you both, as I did Mr. Eck. I won't risk Harry's safety. The fewer who know his true nature, the better." Snape glanced up to the Gryffindor, the compassion suddenly back. "You won't tell anyone, will you, Billy? Remus would skin me alive and Black -" Snape choked and shook his head. "Please, Bill."

"I'll keep the secret," Bill promised. He gave a crooked grin, and Dina had the sudden feeling she'd missed something. "Harry won't be hurt. Not even Charlie will know, Sev."

"No one will know," Dina assured the professor, eager to the attention back on herself. "I'll tell the Slytherins... I'll tell them that your wife passed away when Harry was born, and his relatives aren't suitable guardians anymore. They'll never know."

"They'd better not," Snape said, turning for the door. "His safety rests with you. He'll be going to stay with my cousin for most of next term – but only the two of you, Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, and the Headmaster are privy to this information. Even Hagrid isn't allowed – that's why he's still outside. Keep it secret. Keep him safe," Snape commanded.

Dina dared not do anything else.

+

Harry liked sitting up next to the teacher's desk in the potions classroom. Daddy said he was going to go to live in Greece tomorrow, and Harry didn't know Greek, but Daddy said Aunt Merinae would help. Daddy said he wasn't allowed to scratch at the magic on his head, and it didn't itch as much as it used to, but it was still annoying. "Daddy, can I have a biscuit?" Harry whispered, sneaking behind the table to tug on Daddy's robes while the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who were much older than Harry got to work on their potions. Harry was jealous, he wanted to do magical things too.

Daddy dug a biscuit from one of his drawers – there hadn't been any there before, but Harry liked them so much that Daddy put some there for class times – and gave it to Harry. "Don't spoil your dinner," he muttered, peering at Harry.

"I won't," Harry promised, nibbling at the digestive. Little did he know that chocolate covered his face and ink covered his fingers... Daddy smiled and hoisted Harry up onto his lap and let him stay there for the rest of the class, despite the whispers of the students. Harry curled up there and dozed off, finally safe and at home.

A/N: And with this, we've reached the end of the first section. I'm now taking votes on which House little Herodos will be Sorted into – I have an idea already, but if the majority want something a little different, I'll strive to change! Just smack that review button and send in your vote, or email me at s_hornbach@hotmail.com – I can't wait to add them all up! ~Indarae~


	7. The Future

A/N: Many apologies for the lateness of the update. I suppose I'll offer my excuse (you can scroll through, if you want) — if you've been reading "Our Fathers" at ff.net, you'll already know. The last two weeks of this past term at my college, there were two suicides on campus and one attempted suicide. My college has only 1,300 students. On a campus that small, where over 95% of students live in the dormitories, one tends to know everyone, at least a little bit. While neither of the suicides, nor the attempt, was a close friend, I knew who each of them were. The second suicide was committed by a friend to many of my best friends. The community was devestated, I could not sleep or work (let alone write fanfiction), and all my energy became devoted to keeping myself and my friends afloat. 

I have two lessons to pass on from the painful weeks I've survived. First, suicide is never the answer. No matter how bleak life looks, death hurts everyone around, from the best friend who blames himself, to the roommate who comes home to find a body hanging by the window, to the faculty advisor who wonders what went wrong and the guy who lived down the hall and never knew the dead man's pain, but saw him every day and said hello. While it may seem that dying ends suffering — it's more selfish than any action I can imagine. I've now witnessed the aftermath on three occasions and, by the grace of God, I'll never be forced to deal with it again.

Secondly, reminding your friends that you care about them can make all the difference. I charge each and every one of you to go out and give your friends a hug, or a slap on the back, and just tell them you're there for them. If you don't, they might never know how much they mean to you — and that is real tragedy. Take a moment.

I apologize for the long wait, and for the long author note, and for the shortness of this chapter — I hope you can understand. I'm not done with this, not by a long-shot, but it may be a while before I can write again. Until then, hang in there, and enjoy the anticipation for Order of the Phoenix. ~Indarae

Chapter Six — The Future

Herodos Iamus Snape, eleven years old and hugging a striped cat to his chest, was not happy to be on the Hogwarts Express. True, he knew he'd been almost destined to attend the British wizarding academy since his birth, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to it. It wasn't because he didn't like the professors — Granpa and Auntie Min came to visit every summer, and Uncle Re dropped by whenever he was able, sometimes even bringing Uncle Bill along. And it wasn't because he wasn't familiar with the locale — he'd spent most of his Christmas holidays in the idyllic retreat since he was five. No, Harry was unhappy with the arrangement for two reasons: first, his papa taught at the school and had a very nasty temper when dealing with mistakes, and Harry didn't think he was very good at Potions... and secondly, Harry's grasp of English had faded over the six years he'd spent in Greece with his great aunt and cousins. He could converse in simple phrases, but he didn't know any of the special Latin words for spells, and his language skills did not go past the normal, every-day conversations. All Harry wanted to do was attend Athens Academy with his cousins — or even King Solomon Academie in Jerusalem, since several of their courses were in Greek, and his Hebrew was better than his English. But Papa insisted, and so did Granpa and Auntie Min, so he was Hogwarts bound.

After a long, lonely time waiting for the other students to board the train — Papa dropped him off early, since he had to be back at school for the feast — a red-headed boy who lookied a lot like Uncle Bill poked his head into the train car. "Hallo, mate — mind if I join you? Brothers kicked me out of their carriage."

The boy was speaking too quickly for Harry to follow. "Borite na mil- No, in English... please, talk more slowly?" Harry begged, trying not to let the English words be too bogged down by accent.

The red-head narrowed his eyes. "Wait, are you some sort of foreigner? Why are you going to Hogwarts?"

"Why?" Harry paused, working past long years of repressed memory. "I... I am going to Hogwarts because Papa wishes it? Does your papa wish it?"

"Of course he does. He's an Englishman! Well — er — nice meeting you, mate, I'll just run off and find someplace to sit..." And before Harry could make sense of half the words, the other boy was gone.

If he'd been at home, he and Paulos would be playing on the roof, like good boys. Paulos was at Athens, now, though. And Harry didn't really want to be alone. The train seemed ready to pull out when he was disturbed again. A chubby boy ducked into the car. "Pardon me, may I sit here? There isn't anywhere else."

"Yes. Yes, sit," Harry managed, smiling as best he could.

Unlike the red-head, this boy didn't comment on his accent. "Hi, I'm Neville," the boy said, sticking out his hand and sitting on the bench across from Harry. "I'm from London. Well, just outside London itself, really. We're in Reading, but it's practically in London now. Gran says when she was young, it took many many hours to make the journey."

Harry smiled back, heartened by the exchange. "I am Herodos. Harry. I am from Greece. Papa is... is a professor. At Hogwarts. I am sorry, my English is very bad."

"No, it's good!" Neville said. "Well, I guess you don't need much of my help, then. You know all the secrets of the school, and all. Do you know what House you'll be in?"

Harry frowned and thought back to everything he'd heard. "Papa is Slytherin. Mater was Gryffindor, Papa tells me. Papa says Slytherins are not all bad — he says others will tell me they are bad. I want to be Ravenclaw, though. I like... like birds, and like... books? Is that right, books?"

Neville nodded. "Yep, books. Do you read a lot? Do you have a favourite book? Though... I guess you don't read in English, and I can't read Greek, but maybe there's a translation spell? I could look for it, since I can read English, but we're only first years, so maybe we won't be able to do it..."

As the other boy trailed off, Harry tried desperately to follow the line of babble. He simply wasn't ready for so much English. "Spell for... for what? I don't know that word."

"Translation. For changing English words into Greek words." Harry nodded, and Neville fell silent for a few minutes. "Hey, did you hear?" he started up again, "Harry Potter was supposed to be on the train, but he didn't show up. Some of the other students think he's dead."

Harry winced, remembering a night when Uncle Re dragged Papa aside and they screamed for hours about Harry Potter. Herodos barely knew what Harry Potter was, but he remembered Papa's response. "He is not dead. He is... Papa says he is hiding," he said. He wondered if Harry Potter got to live in the tropics, with all sort of birds and forests, to hide from the Dark Lord. "Papa thinks Kyrios Vol- No, in English." He bit his lip in frustration. "Kyrios is... is like king, but lesser?"

"Earl? Baron? Prince? Lord?"

"Yes! Lord! Papa thinks Lord Voldemort is not -"

Neville squealed and covered Harry's mouth. "Don't say the name! Don't! English people don't say the name, it's cursed! It might bring him back!"

Harry scowled, but didn't say it again. "I do not know what English calls him, but I do know he was bad. Dark? Yes, dark, and Papa thinks he is not gone. He is hiding too, like Harry Potter. People in Greece do not talk about this... Harry Potter, they talk about Homer and Aristotle and Greek magic."

And with that, he deftly changed the topic. They spoke of Greece, England, Houses, and international Quidditch until they reached the school.

He didn't understand most of Auntie Min's speech, the words she used were too unfamiliar, so he spent the time looking at the other first-years instead. There was Neville, who so kindly spent time with him on the train, and the red-haired boy who ignored him. There was the Malfoy boy that Papa said would be in Slytherin or Ravenclaw, Pansy Parkinson, who spoke to Harry in badly-constructed Greek, but he appreciated the thought anyways. There was a girl with bushy hair who had helped Neville and Harry search for Neville's toad when the snack witch accidentally released the toad into the corridor on the train, and identical twin girls who giggled at his Greek but spoke in a language he didn't understand — their English was perfect, though. "Follow me," Auntie Min finally announced, and Harry stayed at her heels as they entered the Great Hall. 

The others marvelled at the sights. All Harry noticed was that his father sat at the High Table. The first-years were lining up to be sorted, but Harry could not hold himself back. "Papa!" he shouted, breaking away from the group and skirting the table to demand a hug. He launched into a run of Greek, ignoring the whispers that broke out behind him. "Papa, no one here speaks Greek! How am I supposed to learn, when I can't even understand what my teachers are saying? I already know all of the potions curriculum until seventh year — can't I leave now and go to Athens with Paulos? I miss my friends!"

Papa grabbed Harry's shoulders and manouevered him back to the flock of first-years, frowning. "Harry, not now. You need to be Sorted. You'll make new friends here, and Granpa has a solution to your English problems. Don't worry, Harry." And Papa switched to English and apologized to Aunt Min before stalking off.

Harry fumed silently as "Hannah Abbot" became a Hufflepuff, followed by long lines of the others. His new friend Neville went into Gryffindor and looked surprised about it, and so did the bushy haired girl. The Malfoy boy surprised no one by being sent to Slytherin, and Pansy became a Slytherin too. "Herodos Snape!" Auntie Min finally called. He was frozen for a moment — would he be with his new friend, or the girl who spoke Greek to him? Or would he surprise even his papa and go to Ravenclaw?

He spared a glance over at his father. Papa was smirking a little, his version of a comforting smile. Auntie Min patted him on the shoulder and gestured for him to take the seat and, from the center of the High Table, Granpa smiled and winked. Steeling himself, Herodos stepped forward, scooted on the chair, and waited for the nasty old hat to drop on his head. What would come, would come.


	8. The House

A/N: And here's the last chapter before OotP! Book Five will not affect this story, as it's AU. Four days left!!

Chapter Seven — The House

He scooted up onto the chair and frowned up at the professor. "I want to go home," he murmured in Greek and Auntie Min patted his shoulder before dropping the nasty old hat on his head — and then the hat spoke to him in Greek! "_Not a Hufflepuff, nor a Ravenclaw, I'm afraid, my boy. Too much of your father in you. And while you have plenty of cunning, Slytherin would destroy you before you could learn the language... You take after your mother, too, you know. So go on, then..._ GRYFFINDOR!!"

The Gryffindor table sent up a half-hearted cheer, and Harry risked a peek back to find his papa smiling proudly. Maybe it wouldn't all be terrible... maybe he could learn about his mum and his birth... maybe he could make new friends, and learn how to speak to them in their own language, and teach them how to speak in his... maybe he would have adventures and make his papa proud... Smiling, Harry lept up to take his seat with Gryffindor. He was going home.

At the table, though, his mind was no longer quite so at ease. While Neville had saved him a seat, the others gave him funny looks. Harry reflexively smoothed down his messy hair. His papa always teased him about it, and Aunt Hestia could never get it to stay trimmed. Sometimes she got mad at him for growing it back out — but really, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't control his magic yet. "They do not like me?" Harry whispered to Neville, trying to avoid the identical glares of two red-headed boys.

Neville shrugged. "Maybe they don't like your dad as a professor?" Neville poked at his plate. "I'm hungry. When do you think they'll bring the food out?"

"After the Sorting's over," another red-head told them. The Gryffindor table seemed to be full of them. If Harry didn't know better, he'd easily guess the entire population of Great Britain to be ginger haired. "I'm Percy Weasley, by the way. 5th year prefect."

Harry didn't hear the most of it — when the name Weasley' came out, he perked up in his seat. "Weasley! You are... you are Bill's cousin? Brother? But relative, yes?"

Percy's eyes narrowed, and the twins across the table seemed to take notice, too. "Yes..." Percy said hesitantly. "Bill's my eldest brother... how do you know him...?"

But then Auntie Min called out, "Weasley, Ronald," and one of the twins shushed the rest of the table. Only a few moments passed before the hat sent Ronald over to Gryffindor to join his brothers.

While the twins celebrated, Harry turned back to talk to Percy again. "Uncle Bill went to school with Papa. Cairo is not so far from Athens, he comes to visit often. Sometimes more often than Papa, during the school year. Uncle Bill is very fun; he took me to see pyramids in Cairo."

"Bill hasn't taken us to see the pyramids," Ronald whined. "How come he never told us he went to school with Snape?"

One of the twins smirked. "Well, who'd want to adm- OW!" He stopped short as his brother jabbed him in the ribs. "What'd you do that for, George?"

"It's his kid, wanker. C'mon, let's go see Oliver about practices," the twin presumably called George answered. The two were up and gone without another word.

Harry hadn't even realized that food had appeared on the table. He dug in and turned back to Neville, who was talking to the bushy-haired girl from the train. "I live with my gran," Neville was saying. "My family's been magical on both sides for ages. What's it like, seeing everything for the first time?"

"Oh, it's simply enchanting!" she gushed, before noticing Harry listening. "Oh, hallo, there! My name's Hermione Granger. I didn't catch yours?"

Harry gave a half smile. "Herodos Snape. Harry is my... my nickname. Please, I beg your pardon, but it is hard to understand when you speak so quickly."

Hermione practically bounced from her seat in enthusiasm. "A foreigner! How marvelous! You'll simply have to tell me everything about your home, Harry. Your name is Greek? You're from Greece?"

Harry nodded sheepishly. "Yes. Athens. I was born in this castle, Papa says."

"Oooh," she gushed, "I was just sure your father was a professor! You look just like the one on the end there — of course, you went over and started talking to him, so I just assumed -"

"Hey, slow down!" Neville grinned. "Even I can't keep up, and I speak the Queen's English! I was so worried I'd end up a Hufflepuff, or worse yet, that I'd sit under the Hat and it would tell me to leave." He blushed. "For a long time, Gran thought I might be a Squib."

Hermione looked fascinated, of course. "A squib? What's a squib? I'ver read all the books for this year, and I even bought more in Diagon Alley to try to catch up, but I'm afraid I simply don't have the breadth of knowledge to catch up!"

"Squib is... when two magic families have a baby with no magic. You have no magic parents, but have magic? You are Muggleborn?" Harry asked.

She nodded as rapidly as her speech. "Oh, I hope I do fit in. When Professor McGonagall brought me my letter, I almost died of the excitement. I'd always been a bit odd, you see, but my parents are both dentists, so they didn't quite know what to do about it."

"Dentist? What is... dentist?" Harry asked. "The word... I do not know the word."

Neville shrugged. "You've got me there, mate. What's a dentist?"

Hermione gasped. "You don't know what a dentist is! Well, a dentist... in the Muggle world, I mean to say... a dentist fixes teeth. Cleans them, makes them straighter and whiter. My parents would just die — no dentists? How do you make your teeth clean?"

"Magic," Neville shrugged. "How else would we do it?"

"Oooh..." Hermione looked envious. "You mean you don't have to carry around a caddy with a toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, flouride mouth wash -"

"You do not speak English!" Harry exclaimed, laughing. "What is... flodide?"

"Flouride. It's... I don't know what it is," Hermione answered, astonished. "It's an element. But... I guess it strengthens teeth. Mum and Dad always make me use it. How odd — no mouth wash."

"It's not odd," Neville protested. "Dental floss is odd, whatever that is." He shrugged and kept shoveling down food. "The chicken's good," he commented.

The deserts were even better, and then it was time to follow Percy the prefect to the Gryffindor dorm. He pointed out the sights on the way: the moving staircases, the multitude of wizarding portraits from past masters, and various hallways leading to classes. Harry promised to give Hermione and Neville a special tour after they were in for the school year. He spent the time watching the other first years.

There was Ronald Weasley, the one who'd been rude to him on the train. Seamus Finnigan was an Irishman, with whom Ronald had spent dinner — his accent made him incomprehensible to Harry's Greek sensibilities. Dean Thomas rounded out the boys; he was tagging along with Parvati Patil, one of the twins who'd laughed at Harry's accent, and Lavender Brown, a pretty girl whose name sounded somewhat familiar to Harry. The class was small, as Harry remembered Papa explaining, because of the decline in births during Kyrios Voldemort's reign of terror.

"They took our things to our rooms, right?" Neville whispered.

Harry nodded. "Yes. Papa said we get some clothes in our house colours. Papa wears his- his -" Harry mimed tossing a length of cloth around his neck.

"Scarf," Hermione supplied.

"Yes. His Slytherin scarf. Papa wears the scarf to Quidditch matches." 

Hermione frowned. "I've read all about Quidditch, but I simply can't figure out why people are so obsessed with it. It's worse than the football craze: what seems so fascinating about it?"

"When we have flying lessons, we will teach Quidditch to you," Harry said, beaming. "Papa teached- no, Papa taught me during summers. I am Beater. Neville — do you play?"

"Not well," he blushed. "I hate broomsticks."

"We will fix. You follow Quidditch, yes?"

Neville's face morphed into a smirk. "Of course. I follow all the teams — at the family picnic, we fill out brackets every summer. I've won the European cup four times running, and always pick the team to win England."

Harry grinned. "We will speak. My team — the Trojan Horses — they win the Mediterranean Cup every year."

"This is the Fat Lady," Percy was explaining, bringing them back into reality. "Speak the password and she will let you into our Common Room. The password is Caput Draconis."

The portrait swung open, and the first years followed him inside. Harry kept grinning. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad in England, after all.

+

While Hermione went with the girls to their dormitory, Harry and Neville made their way up to the tallest room in the boy's side of the tower; round and filled with five beds covered in red draperies. Harry was between Ronald and Neville. Grabbing up his brand new scarf, in red and yellow, he tossed it around his neck jauntily and hopped over onto Neville's bed. "Neville! Do you have — have photographs? Of your family?"

Neville beamed, looking honoured to have been asked. "Of course. D'you?"

Harry nodded. "Papa made a book for them. I will show you my photographs?"

Just then, Ronald and Seamus came over. "Hey, mates, d'you think maybe you could shut up? We've got classes tomorrow and all," Seamus said.

"Who cares about classes?" Ronald countered. "I'm just bloody tired from the train. Keep it down?"

Harry shrugged and slid off Neville's bed to rummage through his own trunk, finally coming up with his album. "Do you want to go to the — the Common Room? To look at the photographs?"

Neville nodded eagerly and searched rather noisily for his own album. They passed most of the older Gryffindors on their way back down the twisting staircases before sitting down on a comfy, red tapestry couch. Harry's friend flipped open his album first, to show a picture of a stocky brown-haired man and a petite, pretty blonde woman, holding a giggling baby between them. They were tickling the baby, and both looked happy. "This is my mum and dad. They're sick, so I don't live with them; I live with my gran." He turned the page to show a four- or five-year-old being held by a stern older woman in a green dress and large hat, topped with a vulture. "That's me gran." He continued flipping through, showing Harry their house, their neighborhood, pictures of dozens of aunts and uncles. By the end, he was looking homesick, but Harry knew better than to comment on that.

"I do not have pictures from when I was very small," Harry admitted when it was his turn. "Papa said they were — they were -" He mimed an explosion.

"They were blown up?" Neville offered. "Blimey. Was it You-Know-Who?"

Harry nodded and scratched absently at his forehead. "My mater died. Papa does not talk about her. But Papa did not want me to grow up at Hogwarts. I live in Greece instead with Papa's distant relative, who is Aunt Hestia. And this is Aunt Merinae. Cousin Paulos is at school in Athens, Cousin Alexandros and Cousin Miriam go to school in Jerusalem. This is Auntie Min," Harry was saying. Auntie Min looked very different in her strictly tailored school robes and tartan witch's hat, Harry mused.

Neville was gaping at the group photo of Harry with all of his Scotland relatives.' "Wait. Auntie Min is Professor McGonagall? And — isn't that Headmaster Dumbledore? There are at least two other professors here..."

Harry shrugged. "Granpa, Uncle Re, Ma'm Pomfrey, and that is Uncle Bill standing next to Papa. We are in Cairo. See? Pyramids," he pointed. The pyramids were infinitely more interesting to him than the family members, especially since most of them were around the castle right now. He missed Paulos already. 

"Uncle Re?" Neville asked. "Ma'm Pomfrey?"

"Uncle Re is... dada professor? I do not know what that means. He is Remus Lupin. He was... Auror, yes, that is it. Ma'm Pomfrey is nurse. Poppy is her proper name." Harry gave another shrug. "I do not wish to be at school here. I do not wish to have classes with my family teaching."

At that moment, the portrait swung open and the very subject of their conversations stepped in: Papa, scowling his finest. Harry scowled back and Neville, staring at the Potions Professor in abject terror, sunk into his seat. With a swift glare at Harry's new friend, Papa slipped into Greek. "Herodos, I was coming up to find you. Your friend there shouldn't be awake. If he keeps breaking rules like that -"

"Papa, we're sharing pictures!" Harry snapped, waving his album around. "I'm showing him Uncle Re and Uncle Bill and Granpa. Did you know Uncle Bill's brothers are at Hogwarts right now?"

"Of course I did," Papa replied imperiously. He switched to English for a moment, as though reacting to the confusion on Neville's face. "Mister... Longbottom, is it? I wish to speak to my son alone. If you would be so kind?" He gestured to the stairs.

"Night, mate," Neville muttered, taking off in a terror. He left his pictures behind.

Harry picked them up and opened to the first picture, of baby Neville with his parents, as Papa rounded to sit next to him. "Neville has pictures of his mother," he said resentfully. "I don't know anything about mine at all."

Papa peered over Harry's shoulder. "Frank and Hannah," he said, moving effortlessly back to his native Greek. "I knew them, a bit. They were a few years above me in school. Frank was a Gryffindor. Hannah was a Ravenclaw. The way they..." he shuddered, shaking his head. "It's not my story to tell, Herodos. Perhaps someday Neville will be ready to tell you about his parents. As for you... when the time is right, you will learn as well. I just feel it's too soon."

"I'm eleven," Harry protested feebly. "I'm old enough to go to a boarding school. Even if you're here. It's not like you were at home most of the year anyway."

Papa didn't respond for what seemed a long time, before reaching into the front pocket of his black robes. "If your mother hadn't died, you wouldn't know me at all," he admitted. He put a photo on the top of Harry's album, pointing to the three figures. "This is you," he said, pointing to a chubby, grinning baby. "You're about a year old. This is your mum." She was beautiful to Harry; this was the first portrait he'd seen of her. Her hair was as red as Uncle Bill's, making him wonder if maybe they really were related, and her eyes sparkled the same green as his. 

The third figure was an unfamiliar man with thick glasses, mussy black hair, and blue eyes. "Who's that?" Harry demanded. And where was Papa? Harry had seen pictures of Papa when he was younger. He looked much the same as now, though with fewer scowl wrinkles and a sillier looking hairstyle.

"That was your mother's husband," Papa said hesitantly. "James. James and Lily were going to raise you together. Lily wasn't going to tell me that you were my son."

Harry stared at his father dumbly. "You and Mater were... divorced?" he asked hopefully.

Papa winced. "If only I could let you think that... but no, Harry. Your mater was going to leave James. She'd promised me she would. And then... she didn't. And you were born. I thought you to be his son; that's why you lived with your mater's sister for those few years."

Green light. An impression of being shoved into a tiny room beneath the stairs. Shadows outside the vent, shouting ringing through his ears. Fear. Harry winced and closed his eyes to fight off the flashback. "Yes, Papa. I remember Aunt Petunia." Even if it was only barely. "You... you and Mater were... not married?"

"I only wish we had been," Papa whispered mournfully. He reached over to touch the picture lightly, as Mater leaned over to peck baby Herodos on the cheek. "The reason I choose not to talk about your mater is because of the pain she caused the both of us through her decision. Because of her, you lived with Muggles for years. Terrible Muggles. I made mistakes in my time, too. You will as well..." He smoothed down Harry's fringe. "I wouldn't suggest telling anyone about your mater and James. They make think less of you for your mater's actions. Don't let them."

Seeking silent permission, Harry finally tucked the picture away into the back of his album. "I won't tell," he promised. 

Papa nodded. "Well, then. That's done. I also came to tell you about your English lessons. You've completed the Potions syllabus through your seventh year so, to help in relearning English, you will be attending the class normally for the first year and reading the text in English. The rest of your texts are translated to Greek. Your work will be accepted in Greek for the first semester, then you will need to submit work in English for the next term. Beginning next year, you will take Muggle Studies in place of your Potions work; you'll be spending the holidays at our family home in Argyllshire. With me. Any questions?"

"It sounds alright to me," he admitted. Then he looked down at the album for a moment, wondering if in this moment of candor, Papa would answer any question at all. "Just one... Papa, what is James' last name?"

Papa's cheek seemed to twitch. "Not tonight, Herodos. James died with your mater. They're buried together. That's all you need to know." He stood, patting Harry's shoulder. "Go to bed, son. You've a full day tomorrow. Remus wants you for tea."

After Papa left, Harry took the photo back out of the album to stare at it for a bit more. He had a goal now — somehow, he had to find out who James was.


	9. The Family

A/N: Sorry for the long delay! I'm afraid my crossover muse has hit full force: I'm deep in the midst of two crossover fics at the moment. One's the second part of Buffy/West Wing crossover I've posted here on ff.net for your reading pleasure; the second is a HP/Buffy crossover soon to premiere here and on Twisting the Hellmouth, pending an actual plot with climax and resolution. 

You see, I generally don't post fics until they're nearly completed. This one was supposed to end with Harry finding Snape as his father, with the jump into "The Future" just an epilogue. I was surprised by the reader response to this, however, and decided to go where the muse decided to take me. With events of the past semester unfolding, the muse took a little stumble. I'm not sure if I've picked it up yet... though there's a challenge posted at the end of this chapter which may just inspire me...

But, for now, enjoy chapter eight.

Chapter Eight — The Family

Herodos didn't share any of his new information with his friends the next morning, though he was planning to tell them of his father's admissions at some point. He was afraid of their responses, as Papa suggested they'd be mean because his parents were not married, and was afraid they wouldn't be his friends anymore. However, he was also far too excited to begin classes to worry much about things beyond his control. At breakfast, he huddled at the professor-end of the table with Hermione and Neville, staring at their course schedules. "Charms," he whispered, sounding the words aloud to figure out what they were. "Potions. That is with Papa. Her- Herb- what is?"

"Herbology," offered Neville. "The study of magical plants."

Harry made a face and nodded. "Astronomy. We have that at Athenos Day Academy. Auntie Min teaches class where we change one thing to another, but I cannot pronounce it."

"Transfiguration," said Hermione. "It's right here, tomorrow." She leaned over to point. "And Defense Against the Dark Arts is this afternoon, with Professors Lupin and Quirrell. Quirrell's the assistant, I think. The one with the funny-smelling turban."

"Garlic," said Harry. "He smells as the vampire hunters in Sparta. Uncle Re is — is sickly. Yes? Sickly? Ill often?"

Neville nodded. "That's the right word. Is it a chronic disorder — a disease which doesn't go away?"

"Yes. Chronic. I cannot say... but there is no cure," Harry said. He didn't like to think about his favourite uncle being a drooling wolf for three nights every month, but it wasn't Uncle Re's fault. Papa did not like Uncle Re much, but they were family, so it was alright. "Uncle Re told to me that Professor Quirrell went to research in Albania. He was... attacked, by a vampire, and is scared of them now. Uncle Re thinks he is funny, but a good teacher."

"I expect you'll have to call your professors by their proper names in class, Harry," Hermione said, and it took a long moment for him to translate her rapid speech. Proper names? He would have to call Auntie Min Professor'? How awful.

He checked his watch — twenty minutes yet before their first charms class. "Please wait, I will not be long," he said, jumping up to hurry to the Head Table. Auntie Min and Granpa were still there, finishing their food, even though Papa was gone. "Granpa!" he called, switching into Greek, "Granpa, will I have to call everyone by their last names? In class? Even Papa?"

Granpa leaned over the table and ruffled Harry's hair. "I'm afraid so, my boy. Even your papa. If you don't, other students might accuse us of favouritism, where none exists."

"Your papa mentioned that you weren't in your room at lights out, Herodos. You may want to work on that," Auntie Min said, and gave a wink. "I wouldn't want to discipline my favourite nephew." Her Greek was clumbsy and accented, as a non-native speaker. Granpa's was smooth and perfect, even though Papa said he wasn't born in Greece.

Harry giggled and nodded. "Yes, Auntie Min. I didn't know we weren't allowed into the Common Room at that time. I can't read the rules posted." He grinned and leaned forward, across the table. "Besides, I'm your only nephew."

+

In Charms they learned how to float feathers, and Seamus Finnigan blew his up right in Ron Weasley's face, though Harry floated his just fine. The first interesting class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught in a dark classroom that had the skeleton of a dragon hanging from the ceiling. Professor Quirrell kept shooting it scared looks as he cowered next to Professor Lupin, who looked tired and worn. "In this class," Uncle Re introduced, "we'll be studying on a survey level the basic areas of defense: against spell attacks, against physical attacks, against creature attacks, and against unknown attacks. In second through fifth year, we'll be looking more deeply at each of those areas in turn, all of which will appear on your OWLs after fifth year. Those of you who are interested in the creature aspect of this course may wish to add Care of Magical Creatures to your schedule for third year; those with continuing interest will need to receive an E or O on this subject's OWL to qualify for future study. This subject is not for everyone," he said seriously. "In the past, Gryffindors and Slytherins have seemed more likely to excell than Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, for some reason. I suppose Ravenclaws enjoy the theoretical level more than practical, and Hufflepuffs tend to enjoy classes requiring patience, while defense includes split-second decisionmaking."

"One w-w-wrong ch-choice c-could mean a dis-disaster," Quirrell sputtered, wringing his hands. He smelled of garlic and something else; something darker and deeper. Harry wondered how he'd liked Albania. For some reason, that country's name seemed to spark a memory just out of reach.

"Exactly," Professor Lupin was saying. "Before teaching here at Hogwarts, I was an Auror for the Minstry of Magic. I saw terrible things. Devistation, while working at the end of You-Know-Who's reign of teror. However, I also saw surprising joy and amazing feats of survival. Our fifth unit this year will teach some of those methods — basic survival in the face of overwhelming odds. Survival methods may sound like something you'll never need, but you'd be surprised. The Hogwarts Express might break down and leave you stranded in the Scottish wilderness. You might get lost hiking in Wales. You might try to hitchhike across Europe on holiday and end up stranded in the Alps. Or another Dark Lord may rise, and you might find yourself someday fighting for your very survival, as your parents did fewer than twenty years ago. Survival skills training is incredibly important, and a failure to pass just that unit will equal a failure to pass the class as a whole."

Harry panicked for a moment. He was terrible at camping things. Luckily, it sounded like the survival training would be at the end of the year. He hoped he could pick up a few tips from Papa before it began. He felt he was much more like the Ravenclaws; enjoying theory rather than method.

Next to him, Hermione's hand shot into the air, and Professor Lupin called on her. "Is there much practical experiental learning in this course?" she asked, pen posed over an already-full sheet of notes. Harry was surprised, he hadn't bothered to take any at all.

"Plenty of practicals, Miss..." he consulted his seating chart. "Miss Granger. In fact, the only days which are pure lecture are those unfortunate days I find myself too ill to teach. Professor Quirrell is not to fond of pracice skill teaching, and will only engage in it if I become ill mere days before an exam." He paused, but no one else asked any questions. "Alright, let's get started with the information introduction. Due ot the types of magic being taught in this classroom, several of the cleaning and regulatory spells have been lifeted... Quirrell, would you take notes for me?"

The other professor nodded and turned his back to the students — and, without warning, Harry's forehead exploded in pain beyond the migranes he'd developed. The migranes didn't happen often; they were concentrated in an area almost at the centre of his forehead and couldn't be cured by any of Aunt Merinae's magical means. The last had been in July, before his birthday. But this pain, though located in the same area as the earlier ones, was twice as painful as any. 

Harry was aware of slumping to the side and letting out a cry, grabbing the sides of his head to try to somehow relieve the hurt. It didn't work. He was conscious enough to see Uncle Re come to his side and scoop him up off the stone floor, and was fairly certain people were talking loudly all around him. His focus, so much as it was left, was on Professor Quirrell, who looked both baffled and knowing as he stood at the front of the room. Baffled, knowing, and afraid — afraid of Harry. He couldn't imagine a teacher Papa's age being scared of something he could do, but the look that flashed across Quirrell's face, just for that split second, could be nothing but.

And then they were out of the room, and the pain slowly lessened. "Uncle Re?" he asked weakly, curling his fingers into the professor's ice blue robe. "I don't understand — Professor Quirrell looked afraid and looked like he knew something."

"Don't be silly," the werewolf murmued back in his stilted Greek, hugging his nephew to him. "That's the migrane talking. We'll get you to Poppy, now, and get your Papa from his class."

Harry shook his head violently, then tried to fight down the urge to be sick as his pained head caught up with the motion. "Urrg... no, don't get Papa, he'll be angry..."

"He certainly won't be," Uncle Re snapped, "And if he is, I'll give him what for."

"Why do you fight with Papa? You were yelling about Harry Potter, and you were yelling about Mater. Do all families fight?" The question had been coming for a long time, especially after seeing smiling faces in Diagon Alley when they went to pick up school books. Papa and Uncle Re never stopped frowing when they were in the same room together. He hadn't thought about it before, but he and Uncle Re had different last names. He'd always just assumed that Uncle Re was Papa's brother, because sometimes brothers didn't get along. Hermes Thermopoli's pater and uncle got in a fight so loud outside of Harry's old school in Athens one time that the Aurors were called in to quiet them, for fear the Muggles would be too interested in their actions. "You're my uncle, so you're Mater's brother? Will you tell me about Mater?"

They weren't far from the Infirmary, but Uncle Re stopped shortly, face going white. Had he asked something wrong? Papa didn't like to talk about Mater; maybe it was the same for Uncle Re. Harry started to apologize for mentioning her, but he'd already started speaking. "I was good friends with your mater at school. We weren't siblings, no, but we were very close." He sighed. "Your mater had a sister, but Petunia was a Muggle. I've not heard what happened to her, after Lily died."

"A Muggle?" Harry whispered. "Not a Squib? Wouldn't she be a Squib?"

Uncle Re shook his head. "I'll answer your questions in a moment. Let's get to the Infirmary first." And Harry didn't argue. Ma'm Pomfrey checked him over, clucking as she always did about how thin he was. Uncle Re called Papa from the fireplace in Ma'm Pomfrey's office and came back a few minutes later, once Harry had been tucked onto a cot. "Poppy, Severus will be up in a moment to join us. I'd like to talk to Herodos?"

"Don't tire him out," she growled. "Those migranes of his are beyond the magical sciences. We've no idea why he gets them." She was muttering to herself about the problem, then, tottering off to her office.

"Petunia was a Muggle," Uncle Re said, taking a seat next to Harry's bedside, "because her parents, your grandparents, were Muggles."

Harry sat and pulled his knees to his chest, trying to work over what that meant for who he was. "Mater was Muggleborn," he said dully. He remembered the Muggleborn boy in his class at his old school. There'd only been one, and the boy's parents could never be allowed to truly be part of his life. They dropped him at the school gates but couldn't see the real school because of anti-Muggle security. He was excited to be a wizard, the first of his family, but had to learn twice as much.

Here, in the midst of a different life and culture, Harry could sympathize with Dicaeopolis just a little more. "But... Papa said..." Actually, he couldn't remember what Papa said on the subject. He just remembered that Muggleborns were rather rare and discriminated against fairly often. Sure, Hermione was a nice enough person, but she just wasn't at the same level of knowledge as Harry and Neville because of the accident of her birth... right? He pursed his lips. 

"Yes," Uncle Re said softly. "Lily was Muggleborn. But that wasn't very important. She was a witch and became a thriving member of the community. She fought against Voldemort."

"And she didn't marry Papa," Harry muttered. "Why didn't she marry Papa? Why did she marry — James?"

Uncle Re's paleness became green. "He told you that? He told you about James? Why would he... he promised he'd..."

Harry glared. "I should've been told I'm a bastard a long time ago."

He closed his eyes, sighinng deeply. "Yes, you should've, I suppose. We didn't want to tell you... James was... James was a very close friend of mine, too. We were at school here, together. Your papa didn't much like James, actually, though I guess I'm not surprised as to why... we were good friends, though. I had no idea that he and Lily weren't perfectly happy."

"Well, they weren't happy. Papa said Mater promised to marry him," Harry snapped, slumping down against the pillow and crossing his arms.

Uncle Re gave a mournful sigh. "Many things weren't as they seemed, then. There were four of us when we were at Hogwarts... I'm the only one left. Pete and Jim are dead, Padfoot's in prison..." He rubbed at the stubble on his chin with his hand, closing his eyes in visible pain. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't talk about it anymore. I'm the only one left. Your dad... he wasn't my friend then. He's not really my friend now, he only puts up with me because I care for you."

"You aren't my uncle," Harry said dully. The words didn't seem to connect. "Why did Papa lie?"

"You never asked," Papa said from the doorway, taking Harry's attention from Uncle Re. He was leaning against the wall, scowling, and with his face half in the dark, he looked almost demonic. "We haven't lied to you, Herodos, not ever."

Uncle Re stood and ruffled Harry's fringe before sneaking out of the Infirmary and leaving father and son together. "Is Granpa my grandfather?" Harry asked, not acknowledging Lupin leaving the room. "Is Auntie Min related? Or Ma'm Pomfrey? You always call them family... are they really?"

Papa shook his head. "They've been my family since I left Greece for good, but they aren't truly related. Minerva is distantly related, Headmaster Dumbledore not at all, and Poppy a third cousin. There's blood there, but nothing direct. I've told you this once before, you know... your only relations are the Muggles and Merinae."

And suddenly, he did remember, though only faintly. A photo album and a stack of chocolate digestives when he was small, and the terrible aunt with whom he'd spent a few years. He remembered meeting Uncle Bill (who obviously wasn't an Uncle at all), and remembered a Slytherin girl who watched him for Papa, the term he spent living at Hogwarts. 

Without thinking about it, he'd started scratching the middle of his forehead, though he caught himself and stopped. "Papa... who was James?"

"Not yet," Papa said simply, shaking his head. "There will be a time when you'll need to know. When the time is here, I'll tell you everything. But it's safer — safer for you, safer for me, safer for Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger — that you do not know. Don't go looking into this, Herodos, it's for your own good."

Harry crossed his arms and glared out the window silently.

"Now, that migrane of yours," Papa began, "has it gotten better? I'd rather like for you to be in Potions this afternoon, as I wish to quiz you over what you remember from our sessions last summer."

Harry didn't respond. Maybe it was childish of him, but he felt it wrong that Papa was keeping information from him. However, maybe it wouldn't be too hard to find the answers... after all, he now knew that James had been friends with Uncle Re at Hogwarts, and that a Pete had been involved, too. Papa had been there as well. There were class books down in the library; that's where he'd first caught a fleeting glimpse of Mater, many years earlier. "It's better," he muttered finally.

Papa nodded and pulled Harry to his feet. "Come along. We won't have you staying here and taking up beds when you don't need it. Lunch will be soon, then Potions, and I'm sure your classmates will be eager to ask about your disruption of Defense today." They were out the door, then, and a group of older Ravenclaws were leaving their classroom, careful to avoid Papa. "Harry," he said softly, startling his son with the use of his first name, "when precisely did you s- migrane start?"

His eyes narrowed. Papa had been about to say something else. Papa never stuttered... there was no way to inquire about it, however. "Uncle Re was explaining the class objectives and Professor Quirrell turned to write something on the board."

"Right," Papa said slowly.

"Why? Do you think class had something to do with the migrane?" Papa was acting very oddly, Harry thought. 

There was a long pause, as though Papa wasn't sure how much information to give. "It's probably nothing," Papa said finally. "It's just that — he wasn't in the castle this morning, and I wondered — he said he'd gone down to the bank -" Papa cut himself off, shaking his head. "It's nothing, Herodos. Just another migrane."

And that would've been that, except for the fact that, only moments later, Harry caught word of the news of a break-in at Gringotts bank, which had taken place that very morning.

A/N2: The plot thickens. Many of you have asked whether or not this story will follow the plots of the books. It will, but only so long as it's useful. You see, why would Herodos Snape have an invisibility cloak, or talk to Hagrid about dragons, or know about the vault in Gringotts? The Philospher's Stone will be a part of this; but not in the way you may think. And that's the only hint I'm giving!

About that Challenge... I've had a number of readers ask about Harry's childhood in Greece. Here's the challenge: write a short fic, no more than 2000 words, about Harry living in Greece. He can be visiting Athens with Aunt Merinae or going to his day school with Paulos. Whatever the story is, either post it under your name at ff.net and I'll give a heads up in a coming chapter... or you could email me at the address on my author page with the subject line of "[Prayer Challenge]" and I'll post each and every entry (so long as they're edited and/or betaed) after chapters, as a sort of epilogue. For any I particularly like, I may add it into the text itself as a pensieve moment! I'm looking for something to boost my muse; if you're enjoying this story, take it upon yourself to help me with some inspiration! So go ahead, find your pen (or boot up your word processor) and give me something to write about! 

~Indarae


	10. The Burglary

Title: Prayer of a Child

Author: Indarae

A/N: Hello! I'm back! And you thought this story was abandoned... Well, for a bit, it was. My muse is a fickle being. Normally, I have a story mostly finished before I post the first chapter. With this one, response was so positive that I extended it... only to have my muse move on to crossovers. Combined with the release of Book Five, I found myself without a plot.

However! After ruminating over the revelations in Book Five, I've decided that... I don't care. I'm going on with this story, with the new ending in mind. The names will remain as they are, even though we now know that Bellatrix is Mrs. Lestrange's new name, not Medea (not that she'll be playing any other role).

I've got a plot. I've got an outline. I'll be posting as soon as I've got chapters finished, whenever that may be, but I can tell you that it'll be about 16 or 17 chapters in total.

Some of the plot elements within will start to look slightly familiar. Don't worry — I'm not simply rewriting _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ with Neville inserted in. I'd never do that! While this story takes place at the same time as HP:PS does, it's in a different universe. Look forward to some elements from HP:PS in a different order, with different outcomes... and some gone entirely. After all, Herodos Snape is likely to make different choices than Harry Potter would. So, sit back and enjoy chapter nine of _Prayer of a Child_... and please, review! They'll keep me going.

Chapter Nine — The Burglary

Word came in the form of Hagrid, the enormous groundskeeper of Hogwarts. Harry didn't know him very well — he only knew that Papa wasn't particularly fond of him. "Profess'r!" Hagrid shouted, throwing open the door of the infirmary. "Profess'r Snape! Gringotts Bank's bin burgled!"

Papa shot to his feet, his conversation with Harry forgotten. "Where's the Headmaster? Does he know?"

"I'm right here, Severus." Looking regal in his purple star-and-moon robes, Granpa stepped into the room and flashed a smile in Harry's direction. "Herodos, how is your head feeling?"

"Much better. I'm hoping to go to class later," Harry said. He leaned back against the pillows and gave his most innocent smile.

Papa frowned. "Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere. Students shouldn't have to... worry."

The smile turned to a sulk. "I won't tell," Harry muttered.

"I dunno what yer sayin' profess'rs, but mebbe we should go out in the hall?" Hagrid gestured over his shoulder.

It was only then that Papa seemed to realize he'd been speaking in Greek. He switched over to English, and Harry had to pay very close attention to follow. "Yes, Hagrid. I apologise. Shall we?" The three headed for the door, but Papa shot a Look back at Harry, over his shoulder. "I expect to see you in class, Harry."

"Yes, Papa," Harry replied. The infirmary door shut.

Harry waited only a moment before launching himself out of bed and scurrying over to the door. He crouched down to listen in at the keyhole.

They seemed to have stayed just outside the door. "It's like this," Hagrid was saying. "The vault that the — er — Yeh Know What were stashed in was burgled this mornin'! Early, likely afore anyone got to work. Reckon we were right lucky I picked up the — Yeh Know What, yesterday."

Granpa sighed softly. "A relief, yes, Hagrid. Somehow, I doubt any luck was involved. Nic warned me he'd been hearing rumors..."

"Nic?" Hagrid asked.

"Flamel, Hagrid," Papa said shortly. "You'll recall he and the Headmaster are acquaintances?"

"Good friends, Severus," Granpa said. "Quite good friends. It's been years since he and I had a long chat, however..."

Hagrid snorted. "Yeh'll not be wantin' to say is name when students are round, profess'r... but that ain't all's wrong with it." Hagrid's voice dropped to a whisper, and Harry had a terrible time making out his words. "In the vault, the burglar dropped a coin from Romania."

"I see," Granpa murmured.

"Romania," Hagrid repeated. "Dark things are livin' in the forests there, Headmaster. Vampires an' their ilk."

"Darker things than vampires, if my sources are right," Papa said. "Much Darker, and much more threatening."

Granpa coughed loudly. "Gentlemen, the day is too bright to think on somber matters. The package will have to be guarded. I'll take care of the arrangements, and speak to the rest of the staff... Now then, Severus, that boy of yours... how long has he been having these headaches?"

Harry scurried back to his bed before Madame Pomfrey or Papa had a chance to check on him. Gringotts had been robbed? Harry remembered all the stories Uncle Bill used to tell about the security around the place — for the curses and wards to have been breached without alerting a single employee, a very powerful wizard must have been part of the operation. And the contents of the disturbed vault were actually at Hogwarts?

He tried to commit the clues to memory. Whatever the package was, it had to be something fascinating, indeed... and Harry wanted to find it.

Harry didn't have time to work on the puzzle that day, however. After Madame Pomfrey gave him a clean bill of health, he had to hurry to be on time to Potions. He slid into the seat that Neville saved for him. "Is Papa here?" he asked breathlessly.

Neville shook his head, looking nervous. "You're not the last one here... Harry, I'm not good at cooking things, and my Grandmother says that making Potions is just like cooking-"

"I will help," Harry smiled.

Across the room, Draco Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins were crowded around a desk, whispering and looking smug. Such a sight was never a good sign — whenever Papa looked smug, Harry knew it was time to be worried. "What are they doing?" Harry asked.

"They've been like that since I got here," Hermione said. She'd taken up a desk behind Neville and Harry. "They're not planning a prank, are they? They wouldn't pull a prank on their head of house, would they? Some of the other Gryffindors were talking at the lunch table, and were saying how horrible Professor Snape is to Gryffindors — though, with you in the class, Harry, I doubt he'll be terrible... will he?"

"Papa is... proud of his title." Harry gave a smile. "He will be hard. He wants you to know that not all magic is like..." He waved his hand around, miming flicking his wand at the table. "Like transfiguration."

At that moment, the door was flung open, and Papa marched in. His cloak was unfurled behind him, and he swept past with his head held high, every inch the professor. The Slytherins scurried to their seats.

"There will be no wand-waving in this class," Professor Snape announced, flicking his robes dramatically as he turned to face the class. Harry tried not to roll his eyes, while Neville and Hermione watched, enraptured by his performance. "It is my job to introduce you to the subtle art of potionmaking. This subject is not for everyone — brewing a potion takes meticulous concentration and I am a demanding taskmaster. However, if you posess the talent... I can teach you to brew fame, bottle glory, and even put a stopper in death."

Behind him, Hermione sighed in awe. Harry, however, was quite familiar with Papa's speeches and his flair for the dramatic. The stoppering death phrase was Papa's favourite. He managed to work it into every presentation about Potions that he gave.

Sure that he had the class' full attention, Professor Snape drew himself to his full height. "I will tolerate no -"

But, whatever else he was planning to say was cut off by the door thudding open again. Ronald Weasley jogged into class, panting. He paused and glanced at the rest of the class, pinking slightly as he realized everyone was staring at him.

"Glad you decided to join us, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape growled.

Neville cringed, and Harry understood why. Papa could be terrifying, in the best of moods. "Got lost," Weasley muttered, looking sheepish. "One of the staircases decided to move just as I was -"

"Sit," the professor snapped. "I don't need your excuses."

Weasley scurried forward and slipped into the last empty seat — the one next to Hermione. Hermione, for her part, scooted away from him slightly, looking annoyed.

Papa's cheek jerked into a half-smirk, and Harry realized where his father's reputation for toughness came from. "That's two points for your tardiness, Mr. Weasley."

As the professor began to turn to the board to begin the lesson, Weasley's whispered response echoed through the silent classroom. "Stupid wanker."

Hermione let out a muffled gasp. Papa froze, halfway through his motion. "Five points for mocking a professor, Weasley." He turned back toward the class and stalked directly toward Harry's row, gaze focused on his prey. "Since you've volunteered yourself... you may show off your talent for Potions to the rest of your classmates, as you were obviously well informed enough that attending the first minutes of class was beneath you. What do you get when you mix powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry turned slightly in his seat to watch Ron's reaction. The other boy grasped the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white. At his side, Hermione raised her hand. "I don't know," Ron muttered.

"Oh? Don't know?" Professor Snape's smirk broadened. "How about this one, then: where can I find a bezoar?"

Hermione waved her hand, bouncing slightly in her chair. Ron sunk down in his. "Don't know."

"Mmm. Why am I not surprised? Well, one more chance, Mr. Weasley — what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Professor Snape planted his palms on the edge of Ron's desk, and peered down from his impressive height.

"Oooh. Oooh." Hermione was halfway out of her desk, waving her hand.

Ron scowled. "Why don't you ask Hermione? She seems to think she knows everything," he snapped.

At that, Hermione slumped into her seat, her hand dropping from the air. "At least she knows more than you," Professor Snape replied, giving each of his words bite. "And that's another point for your cheek." He stepped back and turned to focus on Harry. "Answers, in English, Herodos?"

Harry held back a sigh. Somehow, he knew he would be picked on. "Asphodel and wormwood make the Draught of Living Death, a bezoar is found in... goat's stomach? Is that right?"

"Yes. One more, Herodos." Papa crossed his arms.

"Both monkshood and wolfsbane is names for aconite," Harry finished.

Papa frowned. "_Are_ names. You're talking about a plural object."

Harry sighed and looked away. He hated it when Papa was disappointed in him. "Yes, Pa- professor," he whispered.

"Right then." Papa looked up, and glared at the rest of the room. "Well? Why aren't you writing this all down?"

While everyone scrambled for their notebooks, Neville leaned over to whisper to Harry. "That's raw, mate. You answered all those questions, and he didn't give us back a single point!"

Harry wasn't sure what was worse — being expected to know all the answers or having Ron glare at the back of his head for all of class, for knowing all the answers. Either way, it was going to be a rough year.

By the time Harry's first day of class was finished, he was ready to drop from exhaustion. The day wasn't done yet, however. He ate with Neville, then headed off to the Library to finish his homework. He hadn't expected Hogwarts to be easy, of course — however, Harry also hadn't anticipated the sheer amount of homework that his teachers would assign for the very first session of class.

Most of the homework was simple, just time-consuming. It was the transfiguration essay that was baffling him. Aunt Min's lecture was full of technical terms that Harry wasn't able to follow, so an eleven-inch composition about the theory behind changing a matchstick into a pin was going to be difficult. He only hoped the library carried books in Greek.

The library was the only place in Hogwarts with which Harry wasn't intimately familiar. None of his caretakers over his year in the school brought him in, and the librarian, Madame Pince, was notoriously bad with small children (or, really, children of any age). As Harry approached her desk, just inside the library's doors, she leveled a glare in his direction. "What do you need?" she snapped.

Harry couldn't help but cringe a bit. "I am looking for a book in Greek on transfiguration," he mumbled.

"Speak up. Your accent is too thick to be whispering."

At that, Harry blushed. "Transfiguration theory, in Greek, please?" he asked, enunciating every syllable.

She made a low noise, practically a growl, as she peered over the top of her thick-rimmed glasses. Finally, she nodded. Without a word, she gestured for Harry to follow her into the stacks.

Though the foreign language section was small, and mostly about Muggle culture, an elementary Greek transfiguration text was available, and he made full use of it. Working in Greek, eleven inches went by remarkably fast.

As he browsed in the direction of the door, however, a pile of yearbooks waiting to be reshelved caught his eye. Harry thought back to the picture of his mater that Papa had shown him, the only one he'd ever seen. He knew mater and Papa were students together — but what about James?

Harry sorted through the pile. They were all recent, and full of waving students he didn't recognize. Papa was a 1977 graduate, Harry knew, since the bios that went with his Potions papers in the scholarly magazines always made sure to point out. "Madame Pince, please, where may I find Papa's yearbook?"

She growled, again, but Harry put on his most innocent smile. It never worked on Papa, but he'd become immune over the years. Madame Pince wasn't used to it. She nodded slowly. "Two rows over from the Greek books. At the end of the stack." And then, frighteningly, she tried to smile. Harry imagined her face creaking and groaning; it didn't look to be an expression she wore often. "You're a spitting image of your father, you know."

He kept his smile plastered on. "Thank you, Madame Pince," he said, though thinking back to the way his father always swooped into the room like a Gothic vampire, he highly disagreed.

As he passed the foreign language books, he heard someone sniffling between the stacks. The yearbook, and the identity of James, were just one more row over — however, Harry made the mistake of glancing to see who it was. Between his new friend Hermione and the identity of his mater's dead husband, Hermione won.

She was curled up against the Muggle Studies section, hugging her knees to her chest. Her face was bright red from tears and, from the stack of books sitting beside her feet, she looked as though she'd been there for a while.

Without another word, Harry headed down the aisle and plopped down next to her. "Did I miss much in Defense after I had to leave?" he asked awkwardly. Dealing with crying people had never been something he was very good at. Papa didn't cry, at least not when he was around, and Aunt Merinae said her boys were too old for tears.

Hermione sniffled loudly and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "I- No, class was mostly... Professor Lupin was very concerned. I meant to ask how you felt in P-potions, but then R-ron -" She broke off and burst into tears.

"I think Ron is jealous that you knew answers he did not," Harry pointed out.

"He was very cruel about it! And at dinner, he called me a teacher's pet, right to my face!" Hermione scrubbed at her face again, but her sleeve looked to be sopping wet. Harry dug into his knapsack and gave her his handkerchief. "He's horrible! I'm not trying to be a know-it-all, really — but I've read all the textbooks already, because I really know nothing at all, and I'm just trying so hard — being a Muggleborn is so hard, what with everyone else knowing the way things work and my having to learn customs and manners while everyone else has a head start, and books can only tell me so much -"

Harry wasn't sure how she was able to get everything out without taking a breath. Her face was starting to get redder, so he cut her off to give her time to breathe. "You are not the only Muggleborn. Dean Thomas, he is Muggleborn, too. And I think Seamus Finnigan is half-blooded. He knows magical things, but knows the Muggle things, too."

"I want to be good at this, Harry," she whispered. She grabbed onto his sleeve and squeezed his arm. "My parents — they're both dentists, and they're both very good at what they do. But I've never been interested in medicine at all! I love reading and books, and history — and now there's all this extra history to learn, too... There's just so much, and they're giving up so much for me to be here..."

"You already know much more than I do about school subjects, except Potions." Harry shrugged. "Papa has taught me Potions already. But I am not good at transfiguration, or charms, and I must learn everything in English next term. Perhaps... you will help me with school subjects, and I will help you with learning about customs? What I know, of course. Some are different than in Greece..."

That seemed to be enough to calm her down. Her face lit up and she nodded frantically. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! Although, I'm not as good at transfiguration and at charms as you seem to think. I'm only doing what the books say, and I'm sure the practical applications of magic are more complicated than simple explanations can cover..."

Harry blinked, then shook his head. "I am- I am not good at English, and you talk very fast, and I don't know the words you use. And... I don't know the words Aunt — er — Professor McGonagall uses, in class."

"I'll help you with that, too," Hermione promised. She blew her nose loudly. "I shouldn't have got so upset."

Harry rummaged through his rucksack, finally coming up with a chocolate frog. "This is wizard candy," he explained. "There is a charm on the frog to make the chocolate jump. Hold onto it when you open it."

Hermione nodded slowly and opened the package. The frog launched itself out and landed on the bookshelf — Hermione grabbed it and made a face. "Oh! It's squirming! It'd be like eating something alive! How horrid!"

"The charm will wear off quickly," Harry said, trying his best not to laugh. "Then it will be safe. But the best part of the candy is the trading card." He pulled it from the packaging. "Famous wizards and witches. You have... oh, it is Granpa."

"Grandpa?" Hermione frowned, peeking over his shoulder. The frog had stopped squirming, and her hands were covered in chocolate. "Oh, you mean Headmaster Dumbledore. Why, isn't that good?" She licked the chocolate off one hand. "It's very tasty..."

"I have a collection. I have many of Granpa, four or five." He passed it to Hermione. "Here, you may start a collection, too. I am missing... Merlin. And Harry Potter. That card is rare, and has no picture."

"Oh?" Hermione looked up. "Why not? Who's Harry Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "He defeated Kyrios Voldemort, when I was very little. But, he has disappeared. Therefore he has no picture. I will tell you the story."

However, before he could begin, Madame Pince rounded the corner with a stack of books. At the sight of the two of them, one with her hands covered in chocolate, she shrieked. "Out! Mr. Snape, Miss Granger, out of here before you stain something!"

Harry tugged Hermione to her feet. "Wait!" Hermione cried, "I need those books for an essay, Harry -"

"Your parents are Muggles. You do not need books about Muggles," Harry hissed. He threw his bag over his shoulder and dragged Hermione toward the door, trying to ignore the spectacle of Madame Pince's anger. A group of older Ravenclaw students glared in their direction as they hurried out.

"Oh! I don't want her angry at me!" Hermione fretted. She wiped her hands with the handkerchief. "I should go back and apologize -"

"She will forget," Harry said. "We have homework, in the Common Room."

Hermione shot a longing glance back at the library, then sighed. "Alright. I suppose we do. You need help with transfiguration?"

"Yes," he said. "But, I will tell you the story of Harry Potter."

He told it the same way Papa did, as they headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Papa always made sure to talk about how powerful Kyrios Voldemort was, and how many of his ideas made sense to his followers. Hermione seemed afraid when he spoke of the Muggleborns who were killed, and of those who still thought Muggles were beneath them, but it was a story she would have to know.

"...and so, no one knows why the baby did not die," Harry explained. They were most of the way back, heading up the final flight of stairs. "The curse bounced off of the baby and hit Kyrios Voldemort, and he disappeared." Harry mimed a beam of light hitting his forehead, and shrugged. "No one knows if Kyrios Voldemort is alive or is dead."

"Is that his name, then? Kyrios? It seems — oh!" Hermione grabbed onto the railing of the staircase as it started to move. "I hate it when they do this!"

Harry did as well, though he was too busy holding his hat on and making sure that he didn't fall to answer.

"Why can't the staircases stay in one place?" Hermione demanded.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the top landing before it moved again. "Perhaps it would be too easy, Granpa thinks?"

Hermione turned in circles, looking around. "We're on the third floor... I think. I'm lost! How do we get back to Gryffindor Tower?"

Harry took a moment to orient himself. "There is a corridor, abandoned. Come." It hadn't been used in years, he knew. Papa explained it once — the school used to have more students. However, the rise of Kyrios Voldemort meant that many fled to Canada and America, and others died. Harry's class was the last born during the War, and the smallest of them all. Soon, there would be enough students to open all of the corridors again.

"Did you hear that?" Hermione whispered. Harry stopped. Off in the distance, he could hear voices. "Maybe it isn't as abandoned as you thought."

Harry beckoned for Hermione to follow, and slunk down the hall. At the end, he stopped and peeked around the bend, as stealthily as he thought possible.

"Down, Fluffy! Down!" echoed toward them. It sounded like Hagrid. "Profess'r Snape, I bin thinkin' — yeh sure Fluffy's the best defense? E's just a wee little thing."

On the wall across the way, Harry could make out shadows approaching. Hermione grabbed him and pulled him back against the wall. Footsteps were approaching — a lot of them — and the voices were getting louder. "That — wee little monster is vicious enough to scare off a dozen students," Papa drawled. "I'm not sure if I agree with the Headmaster's puzzles as a security measure, but... Fluffy should be enough to keep any intruder's mind off the other exits from the room."

Hermione sucked in her breath; Harry held himself as still as possible. Papa and Hagrid passed by in the adjoining corridor, dragging along a hideous, giant dog. Its three, snarling heads were all focused on the dripping hunk of meat Hagrid carried with him. "Thir' floor at the end, right, Profess'r?"

"Dumbledore's attatched a chain already, I believe," Papa said. They turned another corner up ahead.

"Fluffy?" Hermione hissed. "He named that... monster Fluffy?"

Harry shuddered. "Hagrid is..." He shook his head. "Papa says Hagrid is mental.' I do not think it means what I thought it did."

Hermione let out a scared giggle. "What — what do you think they were talking about?"

"I think I have another story to tell you," Harry said. "But... let us not go to the Common Room this way. I do not want to see Fluffy ever again." They hurried off the way they came, as Harry started to tell her what he'd overheard in the Infirmary.

A/N2: Next time... Who precisely was James? Harry tries again to track down his mother's husband, only to discover secrets deep in Hogwarts.


	11. The Discovery

A/N: And, as promised, another chapter much sooner than the last! Thanks, all, for the reviews. I love to know what people think. Chapter 11 is going to be quite a long one… but until then, enjoy this!

Chapter Ten: The Discovery

The next morning at breakfast Granpa announced to the school that the third floor corridor was off limits to students, for unspecified reasons. Everyone was too busy with the news to focus on something like that, however. Ron was flashing the _Daily Prophet _at Dean and Seamus. "Look, mate – been a break-in at Gringotts!"

"Gringotts?" Dean asked. He was gulping down pumpkin juice and stuffing his face with as much as he could chew. "Whuzzat?"

"Gringotts is the wizarding bank," Seamus explained. "Except it's really the only bank we have, not like all the different Muggle ones. Run by goblins, you know. There's a branch in most cities."

"My brother Bill works for Gringotts in Egypt. He says there's never been a robbery." Ron snorted. "Guess he was wrong... And look, the _Prophet_ says they may have a lead on finding Harry Pottter! They say some bloke in Canada got a look at a boy with a scar..."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that, I say. Me da thinks he's hiding in Asia."

A few seats down, Neville, Hermione, and Herodos had their heads together, as Harry and Hermione explained to Neville what had happened the night before. "... and the dog's going into a room to guard the other exits," Hermione finished.

"So, they're protecting whatever was in that vault?" Neville blanched. "It must be very valuable – or very powerful. I've heard of weird old artefacts that can kill the wizard that touches them... or books that can entrance you; there's one I've heard of that you can never stop reading. What if it's something like that?"

"I do not think Granpa would hide something evil. He would destroy it." Harry glanced down at the other first years, making sure they weren't paying any attention. "There is one more thing. I did not mention it because I did not want others to hear. Granpa spoke of his friend, Nic Flamel. I do not know him, but the professors are not to speak his name around students."

Hermione frowned. "Flamel? That sounds familiar... I'm not sure why..."

"He must be important, if the professors can't even say his name." Neville shivered. "There's only one wizard whose name we're not allowed to say..."

"Oh? Who's that?" Hermione asked. She turned and looked at Harry. "You promised you'd tell me everything about the wizarding world. Why is there a wizard whose name you won't say? That's just silly, unless it's a bad word, or something. There was a boy at my old school with the last name of Butz, and people teased him awfully -"

Neville cut her off, shaking his head. "S'not that. It's just... he did some terrible things. He killed a lot of people, and his followers did worse. He was the most evil wizard of our times, and he was defeated by a little baby..."

"What? Oh." She sighed. "It's the one you were talking about last night, Harry, isn't that right? Voldemort?"

Across the table from her, Neville gasped and waved his hands. "Shh! Don't say the name! We call him 'You Know Who.' Just call him that!"

Hermione sniffed loudly, unaware of the stares that Neville's frantic movements were drawing. Neville's flailing hand hit a glass of pumpkin juice, which tumbled over and spilled across Harry's lap. "I don't understand!" Hermione's voice was getting louder with her frustration. "Why in God's name can't we say the name Voldemort?"

There was a loud crash; at the Ravenclaw table, someone had dropped their plate to the ground as Hermione loudly called the name. Down the table, there were clanks of silverware hitting platters. The few first-year Muggleborns were looking around in confusion, and Hermione had her arms crossed. Harry, still dabbing at the spill with his napkin, sighed. "The English think that saying the name will bring the dark wizard back."

"That's preposterous! Fear of a name simply increases fear of the thing itself!" She turned to address Ron, Seamus, and the confused-looking Dean. "You lot all think that saying 'Voldemort' is going to bring the chap right here?"

"Not me," Dean muttered.

Ron gulped. "Bloody hell, Granger, stop saying it!"

"Why don't you say it, then, Dean?" Hermione rose to her feet, glaring at the other Gryffindors. Harry noticed Granpa and Papa whispering at the Head Table, and Papa was gesturing wildly. At the other end of the table, Professor Quirrell had fallen out of his chair and Uncle Re was trying to revive Madame Pomfrey, who seemed to have fainted. Meanwhile, Aunt Min was setting her glass aside and looked to be heading toward them. "Go on, Dean. Show Weasley there what a load of rubbish the whole thing is."

Dean shook his head wildly. "No way. Look, everybody's staring at you. Why don't you just calm down and stop saying – whatever it was you said, and just eat your breakfast..."

"This is so silly. Neville, you look like you're about to faint over a simple name." Hermione threw up her hands, and turned to address the Ravenclaw table. "Here – just watch, he's not about to show up at the Great Hall. Voldemort, Voldemort, Volde -"

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. She was bearing down on their end of the table, her face as red as the tartan on her hat. "Please, do stop that! Look at the commotion you're causing!"

Hermione scowled and took her seat. "But Professor, it's just a name! I don't understand why people are so frightened of -"

"As you are Muggleborn, I've no doubt you'll be forgiven for this outburst, but if you'd been alive to see the terror and destruction that he caused..." She shuddered, and Harry felt a bit embarrassed for having told Hermione the name in the first place. True, in Greece, it didn't matter if Kyrios Voldemort's name was uttered – but, he'd never attacked anywhere outside the British Isles. "Thousands of witches and wizards died, Miss Granger. The destruction cannot be counted in Galleons. Our best and brightest could not find a way to stop him – but one boy did. Alone, after his family had been murdered in front of his eyes, a one-year-old child managed to destroy him, simply by living."

The rest of the Great Hall was starting to go back to the food spread out before them. Dean scooted down to listen to the rest of the story, however, and Harry noticed many of the others listening in. By then, Granpa reached the group. He perched on the bench next to Harry, and across from Hermione and Dean. "Many wizards believe that Harry Potter will return in glory to the wizarding world to confront the Dark Lord and to destroy him again, once and for all. He is a hero to them, though I've little doubt that he's just a normal child... much like yourselves." Granpa winked and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, his eyes glinting in some sort of mischief. Auntie Min looked exasperated.

"He's supposed to be our age, right, Professor?" Neville asked. "I... well, we've sort of all been wondering why he isn't here, if he's still alive. He'd come to a wizarding school, he'd have to."

Auntie Min gave a snort and rolled her eyes. She marched off toward the Head Table. Granpa, however, merely reached around Harry to pat Neville's shoulder. "I have the... feeling that Mr. Potter is a great deal closer than you'd imagine." He straightened up and gave Hermione and Dean a smile. "Now, then. You know the story. And while I agree that fear of a simple name is a ridiculous tradition to be maintaining, you may wish to hold your tongue, for the sake of your fellows... though perhaps saying the name more often would help to decrease that fear?" With that, Granpa ruffled Harry's hair and wandered back to the Head Table, whistling a jaunty tune to himself.

Dean shook his head. "Well, I'm sure not saying it," he muttered, shooting a glare at Hermione.

Hermione sulked. With Dean still there, and Ron still listening in, Harry couldn't bring up Flamel again – however, his mind had moved to other things. Instead of Flamel and Fluffy, he was thinking back on the infamous story of Harry Potter... and the odd looks Granpa kept sending his way whenever the Boy Who Lived was brought up.

------

It was well into October by the time Harry had a chance to think on either of his mysteries, again. Hermione managed to get in a few minutes in the library, searching for Nic Flamel, every so often, but even she was too busy to waste much time on it. He was amazed by how much homework the professors could expect them to finish, and what with trying to understand a foreign language, he was worked twice as hard as everyone else. After all, a translation spell could only take him so far. In class, lectures were still in English, and soon he'd be required to write papers in English, too.

However, the weekend of the first Quidditch match of the season, Harry managed to finish his work before Neville and Hermione. They were still stuck on the Potions assignment, and Hermione wanted to work her way through it alone. So, instead of waiting around for them in the Common Room, Harry headed off to the library.

Madame Pince shot him an angry glare, but didn't object to his presence as he headed toward the yearbooks. Harry pulled 1977 off of the shelf and retreated to a study carole to search for his mother's husband.

The yearbook wasn't what he expected. The first ten pages were full of pictures of smiling faces, but as Harry flipped back to find the index, he found a dedication page, instead. "This book is dedicated to the twenty-eight Hogwarts students and their families who perished in the sneak attack on Hogsmeade, October 5, 1976." The pictures were of those who died. The rest of the pages were black and white, just lists of names from each class and House.

With a long sigh, Harry went about scribbling down the names of every James in every House. For all he knew, James had been older than his mother. He hadn't a clue what House the man had been in... and really, Papa hadn't mentioned if James was a Hogwarts student at all!

He had a start, though. Eleven names. Five of them were in Papa's class, even: two Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, and a Hufflepuff. And his mater's name was there, buried among the others in the seventh-year Gryffindor class list.

Harry smiled and traced her name. Lily Evans. He had a start. All he had to do now was track down the marriage records... if he could ever figure out how.

The answer came to him at Halloween. Hermione and Neville were talking about their familes, when Neville brought out his box of pictures and memories. They were all in Neville and Harry's room, as the others were still down at the feast. Neville pulled out a little clipping of newspaper. "This is my mum and dad's marriage announcement. See?" He passed it to Hermione. "Harry Potter's da was a groomsman."

"Marriage announcement?" Harry asked. He put down his textbook and scooted over next to Hermione. "This is a common practice in England?"

Neville shrugged. "Well, lots of people do it. The picture's rather small, though. You can barely make out Mum's robes. It's the only wedding picture of theirs I have, though."

Hermione peered at it. "It looks as though she's wearing a dress out of the Middle Ages!"

"My grandmother says that was the style, that year. Classical Italian. Wizarding fashion always circles back a few centuries." The whole wedding party was smiling up at the camera, waving. Neville pointed at a tiny, dark-haired figure. "That's Mr. Potter."

Harry squinted. If he tried, very hard, he could imagine the man had glasses. "Do you think – many other families would have announcements?"

"I suppose... why?" Neville took back the paper and put it away. "You looking for your mum and dad's? Weren't they married in Greece?"

"No," Harry said shortly, fighting down a blush. He didn't want Neville to know about his parents not being married. He didn't know how a Muggleborn would take it – according to Papa, Muggles were notorious for births out of wedlock, but Papa didn't much like Muggles – but he knew Neville would be shocked. "Er – As I am not from England, I wonder much about the – traditions that you have." Frankly, Harry hadn't a clue whether or not there were wedding announcements in the Greek magical press. He never bothered to read the paper; that was something old people did.

Hermione sighed. "Let's play exploding snap. I don't much want to think about it all. It's another month and a half before we get to go home. I miss my parents."

"You're lucky, Harry, getting to see your dad all the time." Neville sighed and touched his box lightly. "I only get to see mine a few times a year."

"It is not all that lucky," Harry replied, thinking of the puzzle Papa set for him. "At least your father does not give Potions assignments."

Neville gave a dark look. "He doesn't do much at all."

"Well," Hermione said brightly, "maybe you can both come and stay over Christmas holiday for a few days. You can see how Muggles live." She passed over her deck of cards. "C'mon, Harry, you can deal first."

-------

As curfew approached, however, Harry couldn't get the thought of marriage announcements out of his head. One of the Jameses on his list certainly had to be the one – he hoped. And since his mother had been English, it seemed fairly likely that her announcement would be in the _Daily Prophet_, like Neville's.

He refused to wait. Harry hurried down to the library and ran over to the references, ignoring Madame Pince's squalk of protest. The back issues of the _Daily Prophet_ seemed to be bound in wide folders, and the possible dates – anywhere from Mater leaving Hogwarts in 1977 and Harry's birth in 1980 – took up half of a shelf. There wasn't even an index!

However, as he was reaching for the first volume, Madame Pince caught up to him. "Herodos Snape! Curfew is in five minutes. I'm closing up the library, and reference materials may not be checked out, so don't bother to ask!"

Harry glanced up guiltily. "But – Madame Pince, it is a very important -"

"No!" she snapped, pointing to the door imperiously. "Out. Now. Get back to your rooms, Mister Snape, before I'm forced to tell your father. I'm sure whatever punishment he'll come up with will be worse than mine, though if you don't leave immediately, you may run into Argus Filch on you way back..."

That was enough to make him cringe. Argus Filch, a squib with a nasty temper, directed the efforts of the army of house-elves. When he was little, Harry was unfortunate enough to have a few run-ins with the man. For most, one meeting was enough. "I will be back tomorrow," Harry murmured. With one more longing glance at the stacks, Harry fled.

He wished he'd kept a closer eye on the time. If he ran into Filch, or any of the other professors, in the halls now, he'd be sure to get a detention. That was something he didn't want on his record. Enough detentions, and he hadn't a chance of making prefect in a few years – and that was something his father certainly wanted of him. In his own time at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had been a prefect.

Harry thought he caught sight of someone rounding the corner up ahead. He ducked behind a drapery and held his breath, even though the dust started to irritate his eyes.

It was worse than he could've expected – Papa's distinctive, measured stride echoed down the corridor, accomanied by one other. "I thought your part of the defenses was already in place, Lupin."

"Living creatures, even Dark creatures, need to be fed, Severus," Uncle Re said. "Even Hagrid's monstrosity. He seems to like me, however."

Papa snorted. "Perhaps he senses you're just a vicious as he is."

Harry could imagine Uncle Re's scowl. "Honestly, Severus. You don't have to be rude about it. Catching this disease wasn't exactly my choice."

"And you've been working here five years without an incident – yes, I know." Papa took a loud step forward. If it had been Harry, Papa would have called it a tantrum. "You're not to be up there, you know. Third floor's off limits. You're supposed to take another staff member with you... or had you forgotten?"

"I'd been planning on it," Uncle Re snapped, "but Quirrell disappeared just as it was time for it. He was supposed to bring the meats, as well. I had to do it myself."

Papa snorted. "Next time, find another staff member... or Headmaster Dumbledore might have a few questions to ask you."

"Honestly, Severus – it's no wonder you've not had a woman since Harry was conceived. You're disagreeable enough to scare off anyone." Their voices were growing softer, as were their footsteps. Hopefully, they'd be out of hearing range in a few moments. Harry was afraid the dust would make him sneeze.

He heard one more parting comment, however. "At least I 'had' one, as you so eloquently put it. The way I've heard it, your eyes are on other prey."

Uncle Re's response was lost to the echoing halls. Harry slipped out from behind the drapery and dusted his robes off, trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Uncle Re and Papa could be quite ridiculous when it came to insults. He wondered why they bothered to speak to each other, anymore.

Harry was so consumed with his thoughts that he failed to notice the professor coming up from around the next bend.

He caught only a flash of Quirrell's turban before a stinging pain hit him, centered on his forehead. Harry let out a hiss as he fought to stay conscious, and slumped against the wall. Professor Quirrell didn't appear to notice him – the man walked forward a few paces and seemed intent on continuing on his way, in the same direction as Papa and Uncle Re. Harry shuffled slowly toward the bend in the corridor.

And then, suddenly, Quirrell halted in the middle of the hall. A dreadful voice echoed from somewhere; Harry couldn't quite pinpoint it. "_HE IS NEARBY!"_

Clutching his forehead, Harry ducked around the corner. He could hear Professor Quirrell whimpering. "Th-there is n-n-no one," Quirrell stuttered. His words were so disjointed that Harry could barely understand.

A footstep sounded, then another, seeming to come closer to where Harry was crouched. He glanced around, frantically – a door was propped open, still. Filch likely missed it on his locking tour of the castle. Whatever the thing was, it was probably creeping up on Quirrell. Harry couldn't decide whether to call out and warn the Professor or run away.

His choice was made for him. "St-stop!" Quirrell shouted. A light was slowly growing brighter around the corner. Harry supposed it was the Assistant Defense professor fighting off the creature. He had to be capable, otherwise Granpa wouldn't hire him. Therefore, Harry had no qualms at all about ducking into the open classroom and closing the door until just a crack of light remained.

Harry crouched down and peered through the crack. After a moment, the light dimmed and finally disappeared. Footsteps started up, again, but not the slow pounds that had frightened him. There was another glow, as well – this one, a soft, blue light. Professor Quirrell shuffled past the crack in the door, holding his wand up to light his way.

He let out a quiet breath in relief. The monster was gone, then. Quirrell had done his job, and now it was time for Harry to get back to his dormitory before someone else happened along.

However, he had one problem – in his haste to escape, he hadn't a clue where in the castle he'd ended up. He turned around to figure out what room he was hidden in... only to realize he hadn't a clue. It was large and mostly empty, probably another of the abandoned classrooms Papa talked about. The only object was in the center of the room, half-covered by a tarp.

Never one to pass up a mystery, Harry crept forward and gave the tarp a tug. It fell away to reveal a tall, slim mirror, decorated in golden spirals. Across the top was a message written in English characters, but Harry couldn't decipher it. Whatever it said, it certainly wasn't English. Harry stepped forward and looked deep into the mirror.

He let out a loud gasp. There were people standing behind him! But when he looked over his shoulder, no one was there – the room was still empty. He looked again: Papa was standing to his side, grinning widely. Papa never grinned, but this reflection was well groomed and wearing robes of a vibrant blue. Standing on Harry's other side was someone even more spectacular – his mother. She was glamorous, her ginger hair falling in curls down to her shoulder. She beamed over to Papa, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. Her hand was settled on Harry's shoulder, and he could see the wedding band there: one matched on Papa's hand.

They were happy. And Harry found himself grinning, as well, even as the image of Mater smoothed down his hair. She wasn't there, not really – he knew that, it was a magic mirror, and he couldn't feel her hands – but it looked so real. "Mama?"

Normally, he would've been embarrassed by the way his voice cracked, but Papa ruffled his hair. Papa gestured, and Uncle Re came up from behind them. He slapped Papa's shoulder in a friendly manner, and they laughed silently in a manner they never managed in real life. Uncle Re then leaned over and gave Mater a hug.

Behind his family, Harry could see Granpa and Auntie Min and Aunt Merinae, and all of his cousins, all finally together. And James, with his mussy hair and glasses, was nowhere in sight. "I'll be back!" Harry promised. This was something Neville had to see – and maybe, together, they could figure out what it meant.

As soon as he saw the tapestry, he realized how to get back to Gryffindor Tower, and he ran as fast as he could, ignoring even the threat of Filch. No one was left in the Common Room, and from the clock, it was a good half hour after curfew. Harry couldn't imagine he'd spent that long standing in front of the magic mirror. However, none of that mattered – he'd promised his family he'd be back, and he would.

He rushed into his dorm room, at the top of the staircase, and threw open the curtains of Neville's four-poster bed. Covering his mouth to make sure the other boy didn't make noise, Harry shook him roughly. Neville struggled to get away. "Shh! You must come! See what I have found!" Harry whispered.

Neville stumbled out of bed, and Harry narrowly saved him from knocking over the pile of books on his bedside table. Harry grabbed Neville's school robes and threw them around the other boy's shoulders, then half-dragged him down the stairs.

Once they were in the Common Room, however, Neville finally seemed awake enough to protest. He stopped short of the Fat Lady's portrait and shook his head. "Harry – what in the bloody hell are you doing? It's after curfew, we'll get in trouble!"

"You must see! Mater – she is beautiful, she is in the glass!" Harry slipped over into Greek and back, without realizeing it, in his excitement.

Neville shook his head. "Harry... I can't understand half of what you're -"

"Does not matter. Be quiet, follow me," Harry snapped. He snagged Neville's wrist and pulled him along viciously.

After a moment's struggle, Neville decided to follow silently. Harry didn't think to wonder why Filch hadn't shown himself yet. They flew down the halls, ducking through the shortcuts of Harry's childhood, and finally ending up in front of the propped door. "Here," Harry murmured. "Go in."

With a long-suffering sigh, Neville followed the command. He didn't seem entranced by the nearly empty room or the glinting mirror in the middle, though he seemed exasperated as Harry made certain the door was closed behind them. "It's a mirror. So what? This is a load of rubbish, and I'm bloody tired."

Harry scurried up and planted himself in front of the mirror. Mater was still there, chatting silently with Papa and Uncle Re. "See? There is Mater."

From the side, Neville looked on. "Harry – er, the mirror is... reflecting you. Like a mirror is supposed to. Your mum's not in there."

"No. Perhaps – you must stand here." Harry grabbed Neville's shoulders and dragged him directly in front of the mirror. Peering over Neville's shoulder, Harry could still catch a glimpse of his Mum; this time she was smiling pleasantly down at Neville.

Neville let out a loud gasp. "Merlin..." He choked. "It's – it's my mum and dad... and they're okay, now... they're fine, they're talking and walking around, and they're not in the hospital -"

Harry looked more closely, but all he could see were his own parents. "You do not see Mater and Papa?"

"It must be the future," Neville whispered. "The mirror must show the future – my parents will be cured, and everything will be okay."

Harry sighed and stepped back. "Not the future. Mater is dead."

"Then what is it? What does the mirror show?" Neville didn't look away for long enough to talk.

"You may each have a guess," came a voice from behind the pair. They both spun around, and Harry blanched and he saw Granpa standing there, a stern look on his face. "I will answer your questions, and then you must go off to bed."

He must've been there to clean up after the monster Quirrell slayed, Harry realized. He shouldn't have been so stupid – of course Granpa would come around to make sure the castle was secure. But Granpa was smiling at Neville. "Does it – does it show people their families, the way they remember them best?" Neville asked. "It showed Harry his mum, and it showed mine before – before they -" Neville broke off.

Granpa's smile turned sad. "No, Neville, though I'm not surprised that is what you saw in the depths of the Mirror of Erised... You, Herodos. What do you think it does?"

"It shows whatever we want?" Harry ventured. He wanted very much to know his mater, and he wanted Uncle Re and Papa to be friends, and he wanted Papa to stop trying to be scary and to be nice instead. In the mirror, they were all true.

"Not quite," Granpa explained, "though you're very close. It shows us our deepest desires." Granpa took a few steps forward and crouched before them, putting himself on their level. "You both want your families whole and intact. Sometimes – sometimes, that is what I see in the mirror, as well. But this mirror is dangerous. Many have wasted away staring into its depths, unable to give up the merest sight of what they crave. Don't look for it again, boys. I will have it moved in the morning. This was not to be its resting place, anyway, but as you have stumbled upon it... things must be sped up."

Harry sighed and glanced over his shoulder into the smile of his mother. "We will go to bed, Granpa."

He reached forward and pulled Harry into a hug. "I miss her too, Harry, but it is time to accept that she can never come back." He reached over and rubbed Neville's shoulder. "And you, Neville... the doctors are doing their very best. Perhaps, someday, what you saw in that mirror will be reality... but it is best to dwell on here and now, not the somedays. I knew your parents well, and I can assure you – they are proud of you. Even if they cannot express it in words, they are proud of the fine man you'll become."

"Thank you," Neville whispered, and sniffed loudly.

Granpa clapped both of them on the shoulder and stood up. "Now then, bed for you both. This time, I will not penalise you for wandering the corridors after curfew – but next time, I will not be so lenient. Keep that in mind before any other after-hour antics."

He escorted them back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry lingered in the doorway of the empty classroom, giving the mirror one last glance, until Granpa pulled him away. He slept fitfully, and his dreams were of falling into the mirror, into a world where his mother still lived.

Granpa was as good as his word. The next morning, when Harry went to check, the mirror was gone.


	12. The Dragon Adventure

A/N: And now, for my favourite episode of all, Norbert… but, with Harry suspicious of Ron, will events turn out in our hero's favour?

Chapter Eleven: The Dragon Adventure

Though slightly annoyed that Neville and Harry hadn't thought to wake her to show her the Mirror of Erised before the Headmaster moved it, Hermione didn't seem too angry. Her thoughts seemed to focus more on the end of term exams, even though they seemed ages away to Harry. However, difficulties in classes soon kept Harry's focus from the mirror and the mysteries. In Transfiguration, Aunt Min was teaching them to change snuffboxes into mice. While Hermione managed to get a mouse, though the hinges were still visible on one side, Harry's snuffbox ended up with legs, a tail, and whiskers. Harry thought he was still on the match to pin level - and even though Hermione spent hours at his side, learning in English wasn't getting any easier.

Speaking it was, however. He could read some of the Potions textbooks, since he knew all the material anyway. In Charms, so long as the reading was short, he was caught up to everyone else, though his Tarantella seemed a bit on the wimpy side. And Defense Against the Dark Arts proved to be much simpler than he'd thought. Despite the heavy reading, he somehow seemed to understand how to block curses much better than making a tortoise from a teapot.

One day in mid-November, when Harry's Transfiguration homework was light, he decided it was time to try finding James again. He had a short list: the five Jameses in his mother's class. He supposed he could cross James Potter off the list immediately - after all, it was ridiculous to think that Mrs. Potter would have a son with someone other than The Boy Who Lived's father. Plus, if everyone was right and Harry Potter was supposed to be at Hogwarts in this very term, Mrs. Potter would've been pregnant twice!

But, there were four other Jameses to start with: Rodgers, Jones, Hugo, and Windsor. One of them certainly had to be the James that married Lily Evans, right? Harry kept the list tucked in his bag as he smiled to Madame Pince (who growled again) and headed to the reference books. This time, she wouldn't be stopping him.

After several hours of paging through the old _Daily Prophet_ volumes, he wished she would. He only made it to 1979 before deciding it was all too much trouble. While James Jones had been eliminated, as he'd been killed in a 1978 Death Eater attack, the others had yet to be mentioned at all.

The lists of the dead outnumbered the weddings and births, in those years, by four to one. It left Harry wondering just what Papa had been doing during the War. He survived, when so many others - including Mater - hadn't.

Harry got up and started to head toward the door - only to run into one of the Gryffindor upperclassmen as he rounded the corner. It was Uncle Bill's brother, Percy, and Harry rubbed his forehead where he smacked against Percy's chin in the scuffle. "I am sorry," Harry murmured.

"No bother," Percy replied, brushing his robes off. He stopped and frowned at Harry. "You look a bit peaky. Are you feeling alright?"

He waved in the direction of the book stacks. "I am looking for things, but I cannot find them."

Percy nodded. "Problems with the English? You have yet to master the contraction, I've noticed."

At that, Harry couldn't help but scowl, although he wasn't sure what Percy was talking about. "Papa says my English is quite good. He thinks that I am remembering from when I was little."

"Right," Percy replied. "But if that's not it, what is?"

"I am looking for marriage announcement, for these men." Harry slapped the four-person list, down from five with Jones scratched off, into Percy's hand. Rodgers, Hugo, Windsor, Potter. "It is not for school. But I do not want to talk about why."

Percy frowned and stared at the short list. "Do you need dates? Or simply the name of the spouse?"

"Name," Harry said, after a moment's thought. "I am looking for one of these men who died with his wife at the end of the War."

"Well, that's simple," Percy replied. "Mr. Potter died with Mrs. Potter in the event that ended the war."

Harry sighed. "No. That is not it. One of the other men. Where must I look?"

"First I'd see if they're a possibility at all by checking the Floo Directory to see if they're still alive. Maybe you can narrow it down a bit." Percy handed back the list. "It's on the back of the reference aisle from here." Percy looked ready to take off into the depths of the library, but stopped short, only a few steps away. "Say, Harry, has my brother been acting rather off?"

"Which one?" Harry frowned. Uncle Bill had been fine, in his last letter, sent almost a month before. Gringotts was having an inspection, so he was quite busy. And Fred and George, the pranksters of Gryffindor, were bizarre enough that Harry doubted he'd know if they were acting 'off' from normal.

"Ron," Percy replied.

Harry gave a sigh. "I do not speak to Ron. He has been quite rude to Hermione and myself." He paused, deep in thought. "Though," he continued after a moment, "he has not complained about me to Professor McGonagall, lately, so that is different than normal. Yes, perhaps he is 'acting rather off' from normal."

"I wish I knew what he was up to," Percy grumbled, and stormed into the stacks. He left no time for Harry's thanks.

Harry returned to the reference shelf and found the _Floo Directory_, a thick, wide book with the Floo addresses for every witch and wizard in Britain. He didn't bother to look up 'Potter,' since everyone knew he was dead - but Percy's suggestion helped. James Hugo was still alive, married to a woman named Susan, and living in Camden. James Windsor had a flat in Kilburn. And James Rodgers had no entry.

James Rodgers, then, or one of the other Jameses from a different year. James and Lily Rodgers. Harry let it roll around, for a moment. He had a name - now what? What did he think he could find out?

Maybe it had been a waste of time, after all.

------

Harry watched the first snowfall from a window in the Gryffindor Common Room, waiting for Neville to get back from a pre-lunch meeting with Papa about his abysmal Potions grade. It wasn't Neville's fault - he was as bad at Potions as Harry was at Transfiguration - so Harry talked his father into offering a special tutoring session, just to help his son's friend get back on track. The sessions seemed to be helping, though Papa had little patience for those without a mind for Potions and Neville seemed scared out of his wits of Harry's father.

He wanted that day's session over, however, because he wanted to be out and playing in the snow. Fred and George Weasley had charmed snowballs to follow Percy around the courtyard and pelt him whenever he turned to yell at them. While Harry felt a bit sorry for Percy - Uncle Bill's stoic younger brother helped Harry whenever he needed it, now - it was funny to watch Percy duck Fred's snowball (or was it George's?) only to be hit by the other from behind.

Harry hadn't seen snow before, at least that he could remember. Papa never brought him to Hogwarts at Christmastime. Instead, Granpa and Aunt Min, and usually Uncle Remus, would come to Greece for the holiday to be with Harry and Papa. They celebrated Hanukkah first, with candles and chocolate gelt that changed colors magically in the dreidl game, because of Harry's cousins. The Christmas Tree was Papa's tradition, and bore ornaments from all the families there. Presents were simple, and they dined on roast goose and Christmas pudding until late at night, then lit the tree and let the balmy Mediterranean breezes float through the windows as they dozed.

There were no balmy breezes in Scotland, that was for certain, at least not in the first week of December. Harry had taken to wearing his Gryffindor muffler, hat, and mittens everywhere in the castle. It would make Potions difficult, after lunch, but Papa's dungeons were the coldest place in the castle. Harry wondered how his father could survive down there.

Finally, Neville burst into the Common Room. "Sorry, Harry!" he called, tossing his satchel on the couch. "Lost track of time. Your dad was helping me with the Shrinking Solution theory paper."

"He is not scary," Harry pointed out.

Neville frowned. "He's scary. Just… not all the time." He came over to the window and took a seat next to Harry. "What're you looking at? Fred and George are doing something to Percy again, aren't they."

"They have charmed snowballs." Harry grinned. "I would like to make a snowball."

"Sure," Neville shrugged. "Why not? We've got a bit before lunch. Just let me get my cloak." Neville raced up the stairs, nearly knocking over Oliver Wood, the star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

As Neville made his apologies, Wood waved him off. He wandered over to Harry, then, and peered over his shoulder. "The way you're starin' out the window, you'd think there was a banshee there."

Harry fidgeted, uncomfortable in the presence of Gryffindor's current hero. In the last match, Wood single-handedly blocked every Hufflepuff scoring attempt, for a spectacular shut-out game. "It is snow," Harry explained. "I have never…" He shrugged and waved his hand at the students in the courtyard below.

"Never played in the snow? Pah! Get out there, mate, hit up Fred n' George a bit. Poor Percy looks to be having a rough time o' it." Wood chuckled as a squad of six snowballs pelted Percy from all sides. "Not to say he hasn't deserved it."

"You could play, too," Harry pointed out.

Wood shook his head. "Not today, I'm afraid. There's a rumor goin' round that Terrence Higgs is quittin' the Slytherin Quidditch team. If so… Lee's too big to be a Seeker, really, though he used to be fair at it, but with Higgs off the team, we've finally a chance at beating Slytherin! I've got to go track down Flint an' see if it's the truth." Wood patted Harry's shoulder. "'Sides, I grew up in the Highlands. I'll leave the snow to those who need it."

"You did a wonderful job with Hufflepuff," Harry blurted. "I was a Beater on my old school team, but Fred and George are much better than I am, so I would have no chance to be on the team until they are gone -"

Wood cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You're too tiny to be a Beater 'gainst Slytherin, anyway. But, if you don' grow much before next year, you should try out to replace Lee as Seeker."

"Seeker?" Harry breathed, eyes wide. Wood merely winked and wandered off toward the portrait-hole. It was an amazing thought - to be Seeker, the most celebrated member of any Quidditch team.

He barely noticed as Neville came thundering back down the stairs, until Neville poked his shoulder. "Dean and Seamus are going out, too," he reported. "They're going to make a fort. Want to help, and attack the first group of Slytherins that walk by?"

Harry nodded, and they hurried down into the courtyard.

------

At lunch, they were wet and cold. Hermione sniffed loudly as Harry shivered at her side, rubbing his mittened hands together for warmth. "Honestly, Harry, you should be more careful in this temperature. Being from such a temperate climate, you simply don't know how to cope in cold!"

Neville blew his nose loudly. "We were having fun," he said softly.

"And you - Neville, you should be looking out for him, when he's not used to Scottish weather!"

Neville sunk down in his seat in response.

Any other scolding was interrupted by a magnificent Eagle Owl swooping down to drop a letter in Ron's food before flying off again. Ron swore loudly and pulled the envelope from his half-eaten chicken, trying to wipe off the edge with his napkin.

Harry stopped eating to watch, thinking back to Percy's question in the library, weeks before. Ron had been acting oddly - or, oddly compared to the Hermione-baiting he'd been participating in for most of the term. He'd been oddly quiet, he barely spent any of his free time in the Common Room, and Harry noticed him sneaking back from Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest while they were building their fort. For that matter, Hagrid's cottage seemed odd, as well: the chimney had been smoking rather a lot compared to the size of the place.

Ron tore open the letter and scanned through it. Then, he glanced up and stared around at everyone else suspiciously. Harry looked down quickly. When he looked back at Ron again, the boy was tucking the letter into his Potions book.

On Harry's other side, Percy seemed to be watching, too. "That was the owl our brother Charlie uses," Percy said softly. Harry turned to look at the prefect, who shrugged. "You looked confused."

Harry remembered Charlie vaguely from his year living at Hogwarts. Charlie was two years younger than Uncle Bill and had helped one of the Slytherins to watch over Harry when Bill wasn't around. "Ron is close to Charlie?" he asked.

"Not particularly," Percy said.

Fred and George seemed to notice Charlie's owl, too. One of the twins came up behind him and tried to snatch the letter from the book. "What's that, Ron? You hiding letters from Charlie?"

"S'not for you," Ron replied, grabbing the book and tucking it into his bag. "It's between me and Charlie. Go away, Fred."

"He's not Fred. I'm Fred," the other twin said, swooping down to take a piece of chicken from Ron's plate.

"Hey!" Ron swiped at them both. "You're George, and he's Fred, and you can't fool me with that trick anymore!"

Fred (or George, Harry certainly couldn't tell the difference) let out a dramatic sigh. "Aww, iccle Ronnekins doesn't want to play with his brothers?"

George patted Ron's shoulder. "We should let the boy be, brother mine. I've no wish to waste myself on someone who doesn't appreciate me."

"And I thought we'd taught him well… Now he abandons us…" Fred dropped the morsel of food back on the table and slumped against George's shoulder. George led him off, Fred sobbing fakely the whole way.

"I wonder what he's up to," Percy muttered, eyes narrowed.

Harry shrugged. Hermione and Neville weren't paying attention; they were too busy exchanging Potions essays to edit. "You were right. He is acting oddly. He was at Hagrid's after Herbology, and would not come to make a snow fort with Seamus, Dean, Neville, and myself."

"Whatever it is, I'll be the answer's in that letter." Percy made a disgusted face, then shook his head. "I hate to give you this advice, as it's against all the rules, and if I catch you, I'll of course have to take points off… but Fred and George might be persuaded to distract him while you get the letter."

"You want me to break rules to find out what Ron is doing?" Harry asked.

Percy sighed. "I'm afraid he's doing something illegal. He only keeps to himself when he's trying to keep a secret… I wouldn't do this if it weren't in his best interest. Just - whatever he's doing, leave me out of the whole thing. I don't want to know." Percy patted his Prefect badge. "I would have to report him."

Harry thought that was a twisted way to view the world, but kept his opinions to himself. Luckily, he didn't have to respond at all, as Ron's end of the table dissolved into laughter. Harry and Percy turned to watch Ron jump to his feet. Ron's skin was bright blue, and steam was coming from his ears.

"It was the chicken, I think," Hermione said. "He should be more careful eating anything they've touched."

------

Harry didn't have much of a chance to see the contents of the letter, since it was out of Ron's hands within the hour. It happened in Potions, as they were learning to make the Shrinking Solutions that they'd written their last essay about. Neville and Harry were partnered again, as were Hermione and Ron. They seemed to be having a terrible time with their potion, as Ron kept stirring anti-clockwise instead of clockwise, but Neville seemed to have picked up on the basics since their last practical.

After a few minutes, Papa came over and pulled Harry away from his desk. Everyone in the class seemed to busy to notice. "I wanted to talk to you about the holidays, Herodos," Papa said. "I'd ask at dinner, but I still need to finish Remus' potion, if you understand me."

Harry nodded. The full moon was that night, and Harry certainly didn't want a dangerous monster roaming the corridors after dark. "Of course, sir. What do you wish to say about Christmas?"

"We'll be in England, this year. I'll be inviting the Headmaster and Minerva, of course. And Remus. But there are several on the list I'd like to have your input on."

"Yes?" Harry frowned. He didn't want strangers intruding on his holiday, especially since he would be away from home for the first time he could remember.

Papa looked uncomfortable. "I wish to invite a former student to Christmas dinner. She was… orphaned during the War, and has little other family. As she does not have control over her ancestral home, and this is to be her first holiday back in England, she would probably like someplace to stay. With your permission, of course."

Harry shrugged. "It is fine," he lied.

Papa smiled, something he rarely did in class, and ruffled Harry's fringe. "I'll let her know, then. She'll be quite excited to see you, I dare say -"

And whatever else Papa was planning to say was cut off by a loud explosion. Over Papa's shoulder, Harry caught sight of the class in chaos. Hermione and Neville were hiding under Harry and Neville's desk. Most of the Slytherins were screaming and waving shrinking body parts around. The rest of the Gryffindors, save Ron, were off to the side, trying not to get involved. And Draco Malfoy was advancing on Ron, pointing at the shrinking head of one of his sidekicks. Behind Malfoy, his cauldron was letting off copious amounts of smoke.

Papa charged in, glaring at the Gryffindors. "What just happened?"

"It was Weasley," Malfoy reported. "He chucked a dungbomb in my cauldron, sir!"

For once, Malfoy seemed to be telling the truth. Pansy Parkinson was sobbing, and ran forward to wave her strangely tiny hand in Papa's face. "My hand! What do we do?"

"Detention, Weasley, and ten points off Gryffindor," Papa snarled. "Everyone affected by the potion, come with me. You too, Weasley," he growled, and Ron started to sit down.

Ron's books were knocked from the desk by the stampede of students heading to the front of the classroom. As Harry watched, Malfoy crouched down and picked up the letter, which had fallen from Ron's potions book in the tumble, then left the book lying on the floor. Malfoy slipped the letter into the pocket of his bag.

Harry frowned and joined up with Hermione and Neville. "Did you see that?" he whispered.

"The explosion?" Neville asked. "Hermione was cutting up the yarrow root when Ron reached into his pocket and lobbed the thing at Malfoy. He ducked - Malfoy, I mean, but the potion caught Goyle right in the head! Their fathers have a rivalry, you know. I heard Mr. Malfoy just won the lobby to cut back on Mr. Weasley's department at the Ministry of Magic -"

"Not that, Neville," Hermione said. "Malfoy took the letter. Is that right?"

"It is," Harry said. "And now Slytherin knows whatever it is Ron's up to. Percy thinks he might be doing something illegal… we've got to get that letter back and stop them, before Gryffindor loses enough points to cost us the House Cup!"

Neville nodded enthusiastically, while Hermione let out a gasp. "Harry!" she exclaimed, "you used a contraction."

Harry rolled his eyes.

------

Operation 'Save the Cup' commenced after classes were done for the day. Harry and Neville followed Malfoy out into the snow, while Hermione lurked just out of sight. Malfoy was accompanied by only one goon - Vincent Crabbe, since Goyle was still in the Infirmary, getting his head expanded to its normal size. Harry didn't want to start a fight, as that was likely to cost points and end in detentions, but at least there would be equal odds.

Malfoy and Crabbe were near the snow wizards the Hufflepuff first-years had been making before lunch. Crabbe appeared to be defacing a snowman version of Professor Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House, while Malfoy laughed nearby. The bag sat at his feet.

Harry nudged Neville and made a show of walking past the pair. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to be going, really - the Quidditch stadium was past the field, but Harry hadn't any reason to go there. He just hoped Malfoy wasn't perceptive enough to ask. "Did you hear that the Slytherin Seeker is quitting?" Harry asked loudly.

When Neville merely looked confused, Harry cleared his throat. Malfoy had stopped laughing. Finally, Neville seemed to get the plan. "Yeah. That's - that's what Wood said. In the Common Room. Today. Said Higgs was leaving."

Neville was worse at acting than he was at Potions. Holding back a sigh, Harry pushed on with his monologue. "Wood said that we can win the Cup, this year, now that Higgs is gone."

"Fat chance, Snape," Malfoy growled. He stepped forward, away from his bag, and Crabbe came over to stand at his side.

Harry could've cheered at how well his plan was working. They wouldn't need to break the rules using Fred and George's pranks, at all! "Higgs is the only good player that your team has," Harry replied, holding back his grin of delight.

"All you've got is Wood," Malfoy snapped. "What happens if he takes a Bludger to the brain? You've no team at all."

"At least we would still have a Seeker," Harry pointed out. "Right now, Slytherin has no Seeker. Not even a reserve."

Malfoy snorted. "No Seeker is better than Lee Jordan. He doesn't belong on the field. You lot haven't won the Cup since Charlie Weasley graduated!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught sight of Hermione creeping around the snow fort, her eyes focused on Malfoy's bag. "And maybe we will not win this year - but we will make certain that you do not win… at least, not the Quidditch Cup."

"We'll destroy Gryffindor, like we always do." Malfoy sniffed, tossed his head haughtily, and started to turn around.

"You sound so sure of your win. Do you expect that Marcus Flint will make _you_ Seeker?" Harry said frantically, trying to make his voice sound like a scoff and not so desperate. Hermione was pulling the letter from the bag as they spoke.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but stopped turning around. At his side, Neville let out a quiet sigh. "First years can't have brooms, or I'm sure he would. What, do you think that Wood will ask you to replace Jordan? You're too big to be a Seeker."

Harry drew himself up, ignoring that Hermione was almost out of the danger zone. "He has asked me to try out next year, for Seeker. And you are taller than I am, but not big enough to be a Beater. I bet you are not talented enough to be Keeper, either."

Malfoy snarled and took a step forward. Harry headed to meet him - but Neville grabbed his arm and held him back. "Just wait, Snape. There's no way you'll get the House Cup this year. Not a chance. By tomorrow, you won't have points at all… And next year? If you manage to make it on the team, I'll destroy you on the Pitch. Just you wait and see." And, giving a nod for Crabbe to follow, Malfoy turned, scooped up his bag, and marched toward the school.

Harry shivered - and it wasn't because of the cold. Whatever was in that letter was bad, indeed.

Once Malfoy was out of sight, Hermione popped up from behind the snow fort and hurried over, the letter clutched in her hand. "Goodness, Harry, I thought Malfoy was going to hit you!"

He took the letter from her. "He would not. He would lose many points… and, worse, would make his Head of House angry with him." Harry gave a smile. "Sometimes, it is nice to have a teacher for a parent."

"Go on, Harry! Read it!" Neville urged. "We've got to stop whatever it is Malfoy knows about!"

Harry unfolded the letter and read it aloud.

Dear Ron,

I would be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback for you. I won't ask how you got it, but the preserve could use another Ridgeback. This is the perfect weekend for it. I'm visiting Mum already, with friends from the preserve. Meet us at the top of the North Tower on Friday night at midnight. We'll have all the equipment ready.

Your brother, Charlie

"Norwegian Ridgeback?" Neville murmured.

"It's a dragon," Harry replied. "Charlie Weasley works on a dragon preserve in Romania." Uncle Bill told him that, one visit. Harry thought it sounded adventurous - until they learned about dragons in school.

Hermione's eyes widened. "A dragon? Hagrid's raising a dragon? But it's illegal… and Malfoy knows…"

"Hagrid could get in a lot of trouble," Neville pointed out, "not to mention Ron, and Gryffindor."

Harry nodded. Hagrid and Ron getting in trouble wasn't the only problem with the plan, however. It was the full moon - and though Uncle Re took the Wolfsbane potion, there was no assurance that he'd be unable to escape his confines and roam the school in the middle of the night. "We have to help them get the dragon out of Scotland." At least then, it would be over quickly… and Harry knew how to deter a werewolf.

------

Over dinner, they hashed out their plan, and at eleven pm, they were all dressed and sitting in front of the portrait-hole. Quarter past, Ron crept down, bundled in his muffler and cap. He stopped short. "What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"Hagrid's been raising a dragon," Hermione whispered. "It's illegal. You're going to go out there and get yourself caught, and get points taken from Gryffindor."

"I won't! No one will know! And, for that matter, how did you figure it out?" Ron glanced between the three of them.

Neville pulled the letter from out of his pocket and handed it over to Ron. "Malfoy took it from your book after the dung bomb went off in Potions. We got it back… but he knows. He's probably told Professor Snape."

"You can't stop me," Ron countered. "I've got to get this dragon out, before Hagrid gets sacked!"

The trio exchanged glances. "We don't want to stop you," Harry said, finally. "We wish to help you. Neville and I will help you carry the dragon to the tower, and Hermione will stand watch. If Malfoy comes, she will make a distraction."

"Why are you doing this?" Ron asked, seeming at a loss.

"We are Gryffindors," Harry said simply. "We stand together."

The plan was executed well. The four Gryffindors crept downstairs. Hermione kept watch as the boys snuck across the grounds to pick the dragon up from Hagrid's hut. When he opened the door, Hagrid was sniffing loudly, and his nose was bright red. "Don' take 'im, Ron. He only wants to be with his mummy!"

"His mummy?" Nevilled mouthed.

Ron let out an aggravated sigh. "Hagrid, he's illegal! And your house - it's made of wood! The beast will burn the place down in a few months!"

"Norbert's not a beast!" Hagrid blubbered. However, he let them inside.

The dragon, presumably named Norbert, had been locked inside a crate, which was rocking wildly on the floor of the hut. "He's got 'is teddy," Hagrid sniffled. The box shuddered, and a loud ripping came from within. Harry held back a gulp.

"Charlie'll take care of him in Romania," Ron said. When Hagrid looked ready to protest, Ron shook his head. "Look - I've brought other Gryffindors with me, Hagrid. We're in this together. Norbert has to go away, now. They're going to help me, and you're going to say good-bye to Norbert, now."

It took only a few more minutes, before the three hefted the box across the grounds and met up with Hermione inside the doors.

"Malfoy is roaming the halls," she reported. "Filch was by, but I hid."

"He only does a round every two hours," Ron said. "Or, so Fred and George say, and they'd know."

Hermione scouting ahead, they made their way up to the top of the North Tower. Once there, Hermione and Neville waited below, in case Filch or Malfoy needed to be deterred. The stars were bright, and Norbert had ceased struggling against the box. So far, everything seemed to be going according to plan. Harry and Ron sat in silence.

Just as the clock began to strike twelve, Ron pointed at several specks in front of the moon. "Look. It's Charlie," he whispered.

Indeed, it was. Four figures on broomsticks rushed up and landed on the roof. Charlie was off his broom first, bounding across the roof to slug Ron's shoulder. "Hey, mate!" Charlie was certainly older than Harry remembered, though his hair was just as bright. He was sporting a beard, which Harry thought was funny. "Who's this?"

"Oh. Harry, this is my brother, Charlie. Charlie - this is Herodos Snape. He's in my class. Gryffindor." Ron shrugged. Harry smiled politely, shivering in his cloak. He'd forgotten his muffler, and was paying for it with goosebumps.

Charlie let out a loud gasp and stared at Harry. "You're - you're him?" To Ron's apparent shock, and Harry's confusion, he dashed over to the other riders. One, he grabbed by the arm and dragged over to stand before Harry. "It's him," Charlie whispered.

"Who?" the rider replied. This one was a woman, about Charlie's age, with dark, curly hair.

"Harry," Charlie replied. "Harry P- Snape's kid." The last was emphasized. Harry wondered just what Charlie had been about to say.

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh, Merlin," she whispered, then shook her head. She reached out and grabbed Harry's hand, shaking wildly. "I'm Dina Lestrange, Harry. Do you remember me? Me and Charlie used to babysit you, when you were little."

And Harry did, a little. He remembered eating digestives out of Papa's desk and colouring pictures of Madame Pomfrey while Dina was in detention. That didn't explain their awed looks, however. Harry pointed at the crate. "I'm just - here to help with the dragon."

Charlie waved a hand to the other two riders. "The Ridgeback is in the crate. Why don't you get the harness ready?"

Dina, meanwhile, had taken a step closer to Harry. She reached out and brushed his fringe back, right where Harry's forehead was always a bit itchy. "So you're finally at Hogwarts," she said. "Gryffindor…" That was almost sadly. "I always thought you'd make Slytherin."

"The hat said that I am like my Mater," Harry tried to explain. However, a shiver interrupted him.

"You look just like your dad," Dina said. She unwrapped her muffler, then hung it over Harry's shoulders. It was an old Slytherin scarf, worn by years of care. "There. That looks right."

Harry shook his head. "I cannot take your scarf. It is cold out, and you have to fly to Romania."

"Keep it. I'll steal Charlie's if I'm cold."

"Hey!" Charlie interjected. "And what if I'm cold, too? Thief." One of the other riders snorted loudly. "Yeah, that's it, Rupes, laugh it up - you'll be sleeping outside the tent when we get back."

------

However, the dragon was soon in place, and it was time for the four to leave. Dina ruffled Harry's fringe and Charlie told him to be very careful. They bid farewell to Ron, and then took off, the dragon's crate suspended between the four broomsticks. "That was weird," Ron muttered. "Charlie didn't even ask me about Percy and the twins."

Harry huddled in Dina's scarf. "I think there is a secret that I do not know," Harry murmured, but Ron didn't seem to hear.

And, with that, the mission was completed. Now, all they had to do was get back to Gryffindor Tower without Filch or Malfoy overtaking them. Hopefully, Filch would find Malfoy and be too busy writing up a detention slip to listen to his stories of dragons.

However, luck was no longer in their favor. Just as they reached the bottom of the stairwell, the staircase began to change direction. "Drat," Hermione whispered. "We'll have to take the out of bounds corridor to get back!"

Ron crept out onto the staircase, then slunk back, keeping his head low. "In this position, we'll be seen from most of the floors. If Malfoy's nearby, or if Filch is out…" He trailed off and shook his head. "We might as well turn ourselves in."

"We're not giving up," Neville frowned, thumping the railing. "Let's go. One at a time. If someone sees the first across, the rest of us can hide until danger's past… then only one of us will get detention."

Before Neville could volunteer to go first, Ron was halfway up the stairs. Hermione scowled. "If he'd simply stop and plan first, we'd have fewer problems with losing points -"

"I will go last," Harry whispered, glancing down the corridors. "Rear guard."

At the top of the stairs, Ron glanced around and waved. Neville crept up after him, and Hermione waited at the foot of the stairs. Harry crossed the hall and peered around the corner.

He caught a flash of blonde. "Go," he hissed to Hermione, "now!" Then, drawing his wand from his pocket, he stepped out into the hallway.

As planned, Malfoy got a good look at him. Hopefully, the others would be getting away. "Snape!" Malfoy glared. "Where's Weasley?"

Harry shrugged. "I do not know. I do not care. He is not a friend."

"He's aiding the illegal transfer of dangerous animals," Malfoy said. He continued down the hall, and Harry stepped out from the shadows, to keep Malfoy from looking up the staircase. "It'll be your House that loses the points… unless you help me turn him in."

In response, Harry borrowed one of Neville's favourite phrases. "Fat chance." Malfoy's face started to turn an unbecoming shade of red. "He is my Housemate. I still would not betray him to you."

"You Gryffindors are all pathetic," Malfoy snapped. "You're supposed to be loyal to your family, not to those Mudblood friends. We're practically family, you and I. Snapes and Malfoys… If your father hadn't sent you off to Greece, I've no doubt we'd have grown up together."

Harry was about to reply, when a squeal came from the direction of the staircase. Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he started to push past Harry toward the noise. Harry refused to take a chance - rather than let Malfoy see his comrades-in-arms, he dropped his wand and punched Malfoy in the face.

He certainly had Malfoy's attention, then. The other boy ignored the stairs (and his bloody nose) in favor of lunging at Harry, fists flying.

Size-wise, they were certainly well matched. However, Harry hadn't been well trained in the art of self-defense. He had no siblings, and his cousins usually took care of the playground bullies. He went down under Malfoy's assault, wheezing after a knee to the gut. His glasses went flying as he hit the ground. The floor was cold.

Harry lashed out, but Malfoy managed to slam Harry's skull against the ground. The dim outlines of the walls were starting to get fuzzy. He was more than a little worried - would Malfoy just leave him unconscious in the corridor? - when a sudden scream echoed down the halls.

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Snape! Stop that!" And Auntie Min charged over, dressed in her tartan housecoat. She pulled Malfoy off of Harry, then yanked Harry up by the shoulder. "Fighting in the halls - after hours - just look at the two of you, bleeding all over the floors, and it being the full moon -" She cut herself off before giving away Uncle Re's secret. "Ten - no, twenty points from each of your Houses! And Detention, both of you," she snapped, "to be served… tomorrow night! You'll have no weekend of ease!"

"Professor, he's broken my nose!" Malfoy whined, cradling his face.

Auntie Min released Harry, who knelt down and felt around for his glasses. Luckily, they weren't broken.. She pulled Malfoy's hands away and took a closer look. "He did no such thing. He just broke a blood vessel." With a wave of her wand, the blood was gone. "There. Go back to your dormitory, before I wake your Head of House." Malfoy scurried off.

She turned on Harry, then. "And you - you should know better! Your father is a professor! Just imagine what he'll say when he hears what you were getting up to!" She charmed the blood away. "Just a crack on the head, you'll be fine - and a black eye - Goodness, you and Mr. Malfoy are just like James and Severus were, always at each other's throats -" She stopped abruptly.

Harry rubbed the sore back of his head. He'd have a terrible bump, in the morning. However, he pushed it aside. "James?" he asked.

"None of your business," she growled. Taking his shoulders, Auntie Min marched him back toward Gryffindor Tower. "Wronski feint!" she yelled at the Fat Lady, provoking a haughty sniff from the portrait, though the entrance swung open. "Get inside. Now. I'm ashamed of you, Harry."

Shoulders slumped, Harry crept inside. The portrait slammed behind him, and he could hear Auntie Min storming off. Adding to his disgrace, his right eye was starting to throb. Papa would be told, and he was sure to be in for a scolding the likes of which he'd never seen.

The scene in the Common Room pushed his shame away. Neville, Hermione, and Ron were all waiting up for him. Hermione was on her feet in an instant. "Oh, Harry! Who caught you? Was it Filch? Did he hurt you?"

"Malfoy," Harry had to explain. "I punched him to keep him from seeing you all."

Neville's eyes were wide. "You've got a black eye? Shouldn't you go to the infirmary?"

"Professor McGonagall brought me back here and told me not to leave until tomorrow." Harry looked at his feet. "We lost twenty points… but Slytherin did, too."

"Blimey, Harry…" When he looked up again, Ron's expression was nearly worshipful. "Only twenty, and Slytherin down as many? If I'd been caught, we'd be out of the running… Thanks, mate."

And from then on, Ron was part of the group. After all, smuggling an illegal dragon after curfew was an experience best appreciated only with one's closest friends.


	13. The Day After

A/N: Another chapter! I'm actually writing on chapter 16 right now. Looks like this'll be 17 plus epilogue, unless 16 babbles on and I'm forced to cut it down. Is this different enough from the book to come from the AU beginning?

Chapter Twelve: The Day After

At breakfast the next morning, Malfoy and Harry were sporting complimentary bruises. The rumors had already run through the mill. Several seventh year Gryffindors congratulated Harry for besting Malfoy in a full wizard's duel. A few Hufflepuffs wanted to know whether Malfoy and Harry had been wrestling manticores or crocodiles. And Percy frowned. "I know I asked you not to tell me… but however did you manage to get Malfoy involved in stopping my brother?"

Ron and Neville were busy comparing League Quidditch scores, so Harry had no qualms about answering right there. "I was saving your brother from a detention for smuggling -"

"No," Percy said quickly, holding up a hand. "I've changed my mind. I do not want to hear it." He backed away from the table and scuttled off.

"What's with him?" Ron asked.

Harry merely shrugged.

The best point of the morning came only a few minutes later. An eagle owl swooped down with the morning post and dropped a red envelope in front of Draco Malfoy. Ron sniggered, and Neville let out a gasp. "Malfoy's got a Howler!" Ron yelped.

"Howler?" Hermione leaned over to Harry. "What's that?"

Harry bit back a grin. "It is - quite something. Listen."

"No, don't listen!" Neville said. "It's horrible." All along the table, students were plugging their ears. At the Head Table, even Dumbledore could be seen pulling the brim of his hat down. Harry covered his ears and waited, ignoring Hermione's confused questions.

The roar that filled the Great Hall was undoubtedly Mrs. Malfoy. "DRACO VESPASIAN MALFOY, YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO BOTH OUR NAMES, DUELING WITH A PROFESSOR'S SON LIKE A COMMON MUGGLE! IT WOULD DO YOU GOOD TO REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE! WITH POSITION AND MONEY COME GREAT RESPONSIBILITY, AND YOU ARE LIVING UP TO NONE OF IT - JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER HEARS ABOUT THIS! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN EXPELLED!"

A poof of smoke rose slowly from the Slytherin table, and Malfoy's head sunk out of sight. At Harry's side, Hermione was rubbing her ears. "That was horrible! Why did it stop?"

"Lit itself on fire," Neville explained. "At least he opened it right off. It's always worse when you wait - my Gran sent me one at my old school, and it burnt up two of my textbooks!"

"At least you didn't get one," Ron said to Harry.

Harry's relief was short lived. Just as soon as the furor over Malfoy's Howler was dying down, Papa swept toward his end of the table. Neville cowered down in his seat and Ron looked away as Papa towered over the lot of them. Harry was sure the entire hall quieted down to hear Papa speak. "We need to talk, Harry. Now."

His shoulders slumped, Harry followed Papa out into the hall. At least the other students wouldn't hear his humiliation. Papa closed the doors. "I'm very disappointed in you. You should know better than to wander around in the dark."

"It's school. It's safe," Harry said, refusing to meet his father's gaze.

Papa reached out and pulled Harry's chin up until he was forced to look at him. "There are dark things crawling around here at night. Very dark things. Dark things that may, if I'm right, be after you. To destroy you."

Harry shivered at the deadly-earnest grimness in Papa's eyes. "But - why are they after me? I am just a student."

"I can't tell you everything. Not yet. You're not ready." Papa sighed. "Soon, Herodos, I promise… but right now, you're safer not knowing."

Harry thought back to the three-headed dog. "Is it about Fluffy, and whatever he is guarding?"

Papa stepped back, his scowl turning even darker. "You're not supposed to know about any of that."

"Well? Is it?" Harry crossed his arms.

Papa mirrored his posture. "Perhaps. But, whatever it is, you can avoid it by staying in groups and being careful outside of your dormitory. Don't ever go off alone, Harry, promise me that. Not even with a professor. Promise me."

"I promise," Harry whispered. "I will stay in the dormitory after curfew."

"Good." Papa nodded decisively. "Now, go on. Classes start soon. I'll not have you late to Defense Against the Dark Arts. You might need it more than you'd expect." With that cryptic message, Papa stalked off.

Harry rejoined the other Gryffindors before class, but kept Papa's advice in mind. Whatever was lurking, it had to be terrible, if it could scare Papa into submission. Terrible indeed.

------

Harry paused in front of the door to the Defense classroom. It should've been his favourite class, what with Uncle Re teaching, but he always got headaches when he was in the classroom. None had been as bad as the first time, when he needed to be taken to the infirmary, but all were enough to make him dread the lesson.

Hermione tugged on his sleeve. "C'mon, Harry. Professor Lupin will be angry if we're late."

But it wasn't Uncle Re, of course. Last night had been the full moon, and Uncle Re was likely sleeping off the pain of his transformation in the Infirmary. Instead, the room was clogged with the smell of garlic, and Professor Quirrell lurked in front of the blackboard.

"Open your t-textbooks t-to the p-page Professor Lup-pin left off on. He is ill." Hermione's eyes narrowed as Quirrell spoke. Harry supposed he'd have to have a conversation with her - of course she'd figure out the secret behind Uncle Re's mysterious illnesses. "T-today, we will be t-talking about v-v-vampires," Quirrell continued. He quaked with terror as he spoke of the demonic beings.

Sitting beside Neville, Ron raised his hand. "Professor, one of my brothers told me that you'd been to Romania, and were attacked by a vampire there. And that the vampire is still out to get you. But… my brother lives in Romania, and he's never seen a vampire."

Quirrell's eyes narrowed. "Well, Weasley - I was resp-ponding t-to a call for help f-from the Dark F-forest. It was th-this summer, in fact. What I f-found… I d-don't like to t-talk about it." Quirrell turned to the board and started scribbling out notes.

Hermione, Ron, and Neville all bent to their notebooks, copying everything that Quirrell wrote, but Harry's hand went to his forehead. The headache was starting, again - and this time, it seemed to be nearly as bad as the first time.

Papa was worried about Romania, too. So was Granpa. Darker things than vampires lurked there… and Harry knew of only one thing Darker than a vampire.

He wondered what had happened to the Boy Who Lived.

------

Harry needed Hermione's help to stagger out of class. He didn't have any of the notes - the pain kept spiking whenever he tried to copy whatever Quirrell was writing. Hermione, of course, had a theory. "You must be allergic to garlic. That whole room reeks of it, even when Professor Quirrell isn't teaching class. And, you don't have these problems elsewhere, that I've noticed."

Harry shook his head. "I have eaten garlic. It didn't kill me." Though, now that they were away from the classroom, his head seemed to be clearing up.

Neville reached over and pinched Harry's arm. Harry shot him a glare, but Neville only shrugged. "You sure you're not a dhampir? You're kind of pale, and so's your dad…"

"I have seen Papa in the daylight," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "He eats food. He does not drink blood."

"Well, according to legend, some vampires can walk in the daylight," Hermione offered.

"Quirrell did seem pretty excited to talk about dhampirs," Ron added thoughtfully. "And Fred and George always did call Snape a bat…"

Harry rolled his eyes again. "This is not funny. I don't know why my head hurts, and I do not like it." He reached up and scratched the particularly itchy patch on his forehead. "It did not happen before I came to school. Maybe… maybe I am allergic to something here."

"Maybe," Ron said, looking doubtful. "Let's go. It's Herbology."

------

All too soon, classes had ended, and it was time for detention. Professor McGonagall collected Harry and Malfoy from their house tables at the end of dinner. "You'll be serving detention with Professor Lupin this evening. He requested that you wear old clothes, as you may be getting a bit dirty. Go back to your Houses, change, and be in the professor's office in twenty minutes." Levelling a glare at all of the students nearby, as if to use the offending pair as some sort of example, she stormed off.

Malfoy sneered and headed toward the staircases down to the dungeons. The others caught up to Harry. "What do you have to do?" Hermione asked, voice hushed.

Harry shrugged. "I must change into work clothes. Perhaps he needs help capturing a creature for a practical lesson?"

"That would be fun, Harry, not detention," Neville pointed out. "At least you don't have detention with Filch. One of the seventh years told me he threatened to chain them in the dungeons."

"That's illegal!" Hermione exclaimed. "He couldn't do that!"

"Illegal in the Muggle world, maybe. Some Durmstrang students got caned last year, it was all over the _Daily Prophet_," Ron shuddered. "I've heard Headmaster Dumbledore won't let him, though."

Harry shrugged. "It is my uncle. It is detention, yes, but Uncle Re would not do anything too terrible." Or, so he hoped.

Hermione headed to her own dormitory once they got back to the Gryffindor Common Room, and Neville stayed behind to write an essay. Ron followed Harry up to their room. "Thanks for doing this for us, mate," he said, looking awkwardly at his feet while Harry rummaged through his trunk for his old school uniform. The sleeves would be short, but he wouldn't need that again. "We all really appreciate it. Me especially. I mean, the whole dragon thing - that was Hagrid's fault, but he just gets carried away sometimes."

Harry snorted. "Carried away? That was a dragon. It would have killed him, eventually."

"He thought it was cute. He said he'd always wanted to own a dragon." Ron rolled his eyes. "Here, I'll walk you to detention."

"Thanks," Harry smiled. Downstairs, a few people stared oddly at the Greek lettering on his shirt, but he ignored them. He waited until they were out of the Common Room and away from prying ears before he continued the conversation about the night before. "Where did Hagrid get the dragon?"

Ron sighed. "Took me a while to pry that out of him, I'll have you know. He drinks down at one of the seedier pubs in Hogsmeade. My brother Charlie tried to get in when he was old enough, but they sent him away."

"He looked too young?" Harry asked, confused.

"No… looked too Gryffindor." Ron shuddered. "Let Dina in though, that Slytherin friend of his. She'd never go back. Told him it was all Dark Wizards and darker corner to hide in. But Hagrid drinks down there. Told me he was playing cards with a bloke. Hagrid won, and the guy gave him a dragon egg. He hatched it in the fireplace, then."

Harry thought that sounded particularly seedy. "He won it in a card game? Who was the other player?"

Ron shrugged. "Hagrid didn't know him. He wore a cloak, and wouldn't tell his name."

"And Hagrid wanted this dragon for a pet? He is… he is…" Harry sighed. "Papa said he is daft. I think he may be right."

"He didn't mean anyone harm," Ron protested. "The dragon wasn't going to be a pet, either. Hagrid said he was going to use him to guard something. He thought Norbert would be scarier than Fluffy… Don't know what Fluffy is, but it sounds like a cat, maybe. Something harmless."

Harry let out a laugh. "Fluffy is a giant three-headed dog."

"Oh," Ron gulped. "Well… Norbert'd be scarier, I guess… Do you know what they're guarding?"

He paused only a moment before giving all their information to Ron. "Do you remember the break-in at Gringotts, the first week of school? They were after whatever it is Fluffy is guarding now… in the room at the end of the off-limits hallway."

"And you haven't been trying to figure out what it is?" Ron looked appalled. "What if the robbers try to get in here?"

"Then they will need to get past Fluffy, and whatever else is protecting it." Harry shrugged. "I would like to know what it is… I wonder what Flamel has to do with it."

Ron frowned. "Flamel?" He looked thoughtful.

"He is friends with Granpa - er, Headmaster Dumbledore, and was mentioned in connection with the robbery. I think… I think maybe it belonged to him?"

"Flamel…" Ron's eyes suddenly widened. "I remember that name! Hagrid mentioned him, a few weeks ago. I met him for tea. He said he'd just got back from talking to Flamel. I asked him who Flamel was, but he wouldn't answer me. He went kinda crazy, made me promise not to mention the name ever again. Thought he might have something to do with You-Know-Who, though if Hagrid was talking to him, that wouldn't make sense. It seemed familiar then… still does."

Harry nodded his agreement. "To Hermione and myself as well. She has read most of the books in the library, I think, trying to find his name."

"Did she try looking him up in connection to the Headmaster? Since, they were friends, you said?"

"I… no," Harry muttered, feeling stupid. "We should have thought of that ages ago."

Ron shrugged. "Well, I've got to finish my Astronomy essay, but I'll talk to Hermione. Maybe we can find the bloke, yet." They stopped, in front of the door to Professor Lupin's office. "I'm off, mate. Thanks, again. Say… Seamus said he saw you digging through a whole load of Chocolate Frogs. They're my favourite candy, and Mum doesn't really send us care packages and all… and now that we're friends, I was wondering if, er…"

"Take a frog," Harry grinned. "Take for Hermione and Neville, too. If you get Merlin or Harry Potter, though, I need the cards, yet."

"Yeah, me too," Ron muttered. "But - if we do, they're yours! Thanks, mate!" Ron hurried off, leaving Harry standing in front of the door alone.

With a sigh, Harry knocked. It was time to face his doom.


	14. The Vial

A/N: I'm happy to say, the fic is finished. 17 chapters plus epilogue. I'm quite happy with it! I may speed up posting a bit, now that it's all written, so keep checking back for updates. And, as always, don't forget to review. :)

Chapter Thirteen: The Vial

Uncle Re and Malfoy were already inside the office, Malfoy dressed in impeccably clean clothing. Harry shot Malfoy a confused look. Malfoy sneered back.

As it was the day after the full moon, Uncle Re had dark circles under his eyes, and he leaned heavily on a cane as he let Harry into the room. "Go on, sit," he said.

Harry took a seat next to Malfoy and tried not to look too guilty.

Uncle Re hobbled back to his own seat. "Now, then. All Minerva told me was that you both needed detention, and that I was to assign to you anything I needed. What I'd really like, firstly, is to know what happened."

Both Harry and Malfoy launched into their versions of the events at once. "Well, I was in the hallway -"

"In Potions, Weasley had a note about a dragon -"

"- going down to visit Papa -"

"- and illegally sending the dragon out of the country -"

Uncle Re held up a hand. "Alright. One at a time. Mr. Malfoy, you first, please?"

Malfoy sniffed loudly and started over. "In Potions, yesterday, Weasley had a note about illegally transporting dragons. Well, I wasn't going to let him get away with breaking the law. So I went down to search the castle when _he_ showed up, at the bottom of the main staircase. I told him about Weasley, and he attacked me! Just out of the blue! And of course I had to fight back, Professor."

"Hm," Uncle Re said, turning to Harry. "Now you."

Harry cleared his throat and attempted to meet Uncle Re's gaze while lying through his teeth. "I was going to ask Papa about - about something that he told me. And, I know that it was after curfew, which was wrong of me. But, on the way, Malfoy was there. He insulted my House. I defended myself."

"You defended your House with your fists?" Uncle Re asked, giving Harry a disappointed frown.

Harry flushed and looked away. It was all the answer he needed to give.

Uncle Re turned his frown on Malfoy. "And you, Draco. If Mr. Weasley really was smuggling dragons… don't you think that maybe alerting a teacher would have been a better way to handle it?"

Malfoy started to fume, his face burning red in anger. "If any of you would bother to listen to Slytherins in the first place, maybe I'd have thought of it, but we always end up having to take things into our own hands."

"Now, that is a falsehood," Uncle Re said. "Any allegations of illegal behavior you give will be followed up. As… unlikely as they seem."

"Well, the dragon's already gone, I'll bet. And it's Snape's fault, here. Plus, he attacked me!" Malfoy sulked.

Harry looked away. Uncle Re seemed to notice how uncomfortable Harry was. "There may be one other explanation, Draco. Had you considered that maybe the letter was faked?"

"Why would he do that?" Malfoy demanded.

"To get you out of your dormitory where you could be found after curfew… and thus lose points for Slytherin. I have the feeling you were simply the victim of a prank. And I've seen a few in my time, trust me. As for you, Harry…" Uncle Re sighed. "You should know better than to think with your fists, and you shouldn't be wandering after dark. In addition to it being against the rules, it's also quite dangerous. There are… things lurking in the halls."

"Everyone keeps saying that!" Harry exclaimed, finally losing his temper. "There are dangerous things lurking, there are things that would wish to kill me! Why is this true? Is it me? Or are they after anyone?"

Uncle Re sighed. "You'll have to wait for your father to answer that, Harry. It's not my place."

"Can we just get on with the detention?" Malfoy snapped. "I want to finish my homework eventually. You can have your little family issues later."

"Yes. You're quite right," Uncle Re admitted. "Now then… As you can see, I've been… ill lately. My classroom is also in serious need of a cleaning, especially after the fourth year Hufflepuffs blew up a kappa there today." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "And Professor Quirrell seems to have made himself scarce, again. Therefore, I've decided to borrow a page from Mr. Filch's book."

Harry cringed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Malfoy doing the same. For just a moment, he wondered whether or not Filch truly did want to chain students in the dungeons. It certainly kept some students in line, whether or not the rumor was true.

Uncle Re rose and hobbled to the door down into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Next to the door frame were two buckets. "You'll be cleaning the classroom. No magic. As soon as it meets my inspection, you may both leave."

As one, Harry and Malfoy groaned loudly. "Cleaning like Muggles?" Malfoy asked, whining. "That's house-elf stuff!"

"If I weren't ill, I'd simply do it myself. However, I have other things to be doing. Papers to be grading… and tonight, I have to pick up a package in Hogsmeade for the seventh year class. In fact…" Uncle Re glanced at his watch. "I'll be leaving for my errand shortly. Mr. Filch will pop in to make sure you're on task. He's been ordered not to remain."

Suppressing a sigh, Harry picked up his bucket and headed into the classroom to get to work. He didn't even know how to clean like a Muggle. It would be a long night.

------

About twenty minutes after Uncle Re left for Hogsmeade, Malfoy spoke for the first time. "D'you think he'd notice if I didn't scrub the floor underneath the desk?" he asked. "Cause… I won't tell him that you didn't wipe down the cabinets, if you won't tell him about the desk."

Harry sighed and started wiping down the cabinet fronts. "We should do all of it." After all, they had both broken the rules. Harry simply had to remind himself that he was doing it for his friends.

"He wouldn't look under the desk, I'd wager," Draco murmured, but he pulled the chair out and crawled underneath anyway.

Little bits of green ooze were encrusted on everything. Harry thought back to what Uncle Re said: some Hufflepuffs had blown up a kappa? He'd never seen a kappa before. He wondered if the whole kappa was green, or if only its guts were. Frankly, Harry thought the punishment was a bit unfair… after all, when would they be stuck in a situation without magic? Magic was in their blood. As much as he hated to admit that Draco Malfoy was right about something, he did sort of think that scrubbing like a Muggle was beneath him.

With a sigh, Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and opened the cabinet door. Whomever closed it last had done a poor job of it - as soon as the door opened, a glass jar toppled out. It shattered on the ground.

From beneath the desk, Harry heard Malfoy yelp in pain. "Merlin, Snape, watch it! You scared me out of my skin! Hey - what's this?"

Harry left the broken glass on the floor. "What did you find?" he asked, crouching down next to the desk.

Malfoy was rubbing the back of his head and staring at the side of the desk. "It's a secret lev-" He cut himself off, and glared over at Harry. "And why should I tell you?"

"If you do not, I will tell Uncle Re that you were snooping around in his desk." Harry made sure that Malfoy saw his smirk. "And… I am his favourite nephew. He will believe me."

For just a moment, Harry thought about backing up. Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously, and the bruise on Harry's cheek was a painful enough reminder of how hard Malfoy could punch. But then, suddenly, Malfoy let out a barking laugh. "Alright, then, Snape. I suppose there's some of your father in you after all." Malfoy scooted to the side and pointed into a dark corner. "There. It's a lever. Looks like there's a compartment beside it. I hit it when you shattered whatever that was."

"Well?" Harry said. "What is in the compartment?"

Malfoy snorted and pushed past Harry, out from under the desk. "Not a chance. I'm not putting my hand in there."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are afraid of a dark hole?"

"No. I'm afraid of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who seems to be keeping secrets. His office was well-warded. You were late; you didn't watch him take them all down." Malfoy shuddered. "If I stick my hand in there, it might not come out in one piece."

"Fine. I will do it." Harry glanced across the top of the desk. He grabbed a quill from the cup in the front - it was one of Quirrell's, so Harry didn't mind if it was destroyed - and crawled under the desk.

The compartment was hidden away near the back, on the side. It must be behind the drawer space on the inside, though it couldn't be very large - the drawers certainly seemed the same size. Harry couldn't remember Uncle Re poking around under the desk, but he supposed his uncle wouldn't be open about whatever it was he had hidden. Steeling himself for a jolt, Harry poked the tip of the quill into the compartment.

Nothing happened. Malfoy seemed to be watching from over Harry's shoulder - he gave a loud sigh of relief. Harry shot a look at the Slytherin, and Malfoy merely sneered back. "What?" he said. "I didn't want to explain to the nurse. She'd probably blame it on me."

"Well, everyone knows that Slytherins like attacking Gryffindors," Harry shot back. "She would not be blamed for giving you another detention." Ignoring Malfoy's reply, Harry took a deep breath and reached into the compartment.

As he'd guessed, it was a small compartment. It seemed to be deeper than the opening let on, and was packed with several vials. Harry pulled one out and held the contents up to the light of the window behind them.

"What is this?" he asked Malfoy. The vial was about half empty, the remaining contents appearing to be liquid metal. Harry shook the container - the liquid was thicker than water, and looked to be almost the consistency of pumpkin soup. Harry thought back to the project he'd done in primary school on alchemical ingredients, when he'd wanted to be a Potionsmaster like Papa. "It looks like… liquid mercury?"

Malfoy snorted. "Liquid mercury? What would you use that for?"

Harry sighed. "For… for potions. Papa has some…" Harry looked more closely, and shook it again. "But it is thinner than this."

"S'not a potions ingredient," Malfoy said softly. "If it is what I think it is… it's very illegal."

"You seem to have a talent for finding illegal things," Harry said darkly. "Oh. Wait. You didn't find that dragon at all."

Malfoy glowered. "I don't know why you're protecting that mudblood-loving Weasley… but I know the dragon was in Hagrid's hut. I saw it. If I'd got Professor Dumbledore to see, Weasley'd be expelled for sure. And Hagrid would be fired."

"My friend happens to be a mudblood, and she is smarter than you could ever hope to be," Harry snapped. "Why do you want Ron expelled? He has not done anything to you!"

"His dad sent the Aurors after my father for no reason! Said we had cursed Muggle things around! Well, I'll bet he's the one with the Muggle things. When Father told me about what the Aurors did - I'll get him back for that, Snape. You'll see." Malfoy crossed his arms and snarled. "And if you get in my way, you'll get it, too."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It is a blood feud, is it not? How many generations?"

At least Malfoy looked a bit embarrassed. "Twelve," he muttered.

"Blood feuds are outlawed in Greece," Harry said haughtily. "They have been since the second Trojan War. Two entire families were wiped out, just because a woman left her husband two thousand years ago. It is stupid."

Malfoy was starting to look angry again. "It's not stupid," Malfoy growled. "It's my duty to get them back for their breach -"

It was time to change the subject, before Harry ended up with another bruise. "You said that you know what this is?" he asked, shaking the vial around.

"Yeah," Malfoy said. He took the vial from Harry to examine it more closely. "I think it's unicorn blood."

Harry jerked back. "Unicorn blood? That is - but why would Uncle Re have -?" He cut himself off abruptly. And then, he narrowed his eyes as something else clicked. "And how would you know what unicorn blood looks like, Malfoy?"

Malfoy didn't answer. He handed the vial back, and pointed toward the compartment instead. "What else is inside?"

"More vials." Harry reached in and grabbed several. All of them were full of the same liquid, half a dozen in all.

"That's… that's a lot of unicorn blood," Malfoy said softly.

Harry put them all back and pulled on the lever. The compartment shut with a click. "Uncle Re will be back, soon," he said. He crawled out from under the desk and headed over to clean up the broken glass.

"I won't tell anyone," Malfoy murmured. Harry didn't know whether or not to believe him.

They didn't speak for the rest of detention. When Uncle Re arrived back with a fresh Kappa, Harry had trouble meeting his gaze.

------

As soon as Harry entered the Common Room, Hermione and Neville grabbed his arms and started dragging him toward the staircase. "What is happening?" he asked, bewildered by the rough treatment. Fred, George, and the temporary Gryffindor Seeker, Lee Jordan, were hunching over a pile of candies in front of the fireplace and staring at the other trio.

"We know who Flamel is," Hermione hissed, glaring over at Fred, George, and Lee until they went back to their horde.

Neville nodded frantically. "Ron's upstairs… Seamus and Dean are off at the library. You'll never guess where we found it, Harry!"

Until they were safely inside the first year boys' dormitory, they wouldn't say another word about it. Ron was perched on his bed, with a pile of thick books open around him. "Harry!" he exclaimed. "Glad you're back! Just in time! Did they tell you?"

"You found Flamel…" Harry said. "In one of those books?" Hermione perched on the edge of Seamus' bed with Harry; Neville sat next to Ron.

Ron grinned, and the others giggled. "Not at all. We were having a terrible time of it. His name didn't show up anywhere. Most of Dumbledore's biographies focus on Grindelwald."

"I thought my eyes were going to fall out from all the reading," Neville complained. "And that was after we'd all finished our homework!"

"I'm not done with mine, yet," Harry pointed out, "so maybe you could hurry up?"

"Well, you said we could have some Chocolate Frogs," Ron said.

Neville nodded. "After we couldn't take it anymore, we did."

Hermione pulled a Chocolate Frog trading card out of her pocket. Harry frowned and looked over to Ron and Neville. "Flamel has a trading card? But I thought that there was a full list when you wrote to the company, and I have never seen -"

"No," Hermione said, cutting Harry off with a giggle. She handed the card to Harry "It's another Dumbledore…"

"So?" Harry muttered. "Granpa looks silly in this picture."

Hermione turned the card over in his hand. "How is your English reading going?"

Harry scowled and peered down at the card. It was slow going, but Hermione pointed out the correct line. "The twelve uses of… dragon's blood… with partner Nicholas Flamel," he read aloud. Then, he dropped the card and smacked himself in the forehead. "It was here? All that time? It was here and we never -"

"I know! It's enough to make me want to cry!" Hermione said. "But then we went down to the library to get books on alchemy. We left Ron to find out what else Flamel was known for, while Neville and I waited for you to get back."

Ron nodded. "And I've found it, I think," Ron said, pointing at the largest book. "A biography said he was most famous for being the only man to successfully make a Philosopher's Stone."

Hermione let out a gasp and rocketed to her feet. "A Philosopher's Stone! Oh, Ronald, do you know what that is?"

"Well, I had to look it up," Ron admitted.

Neville frowned. "If you don't mind, I don't know what it is." Harry didn't either - but he wouldn't admit that to Hermione.

"It's used in a draught that makes the drinker immortal! So that means… oh, it couldn't, could it?" Hermione sat back down, eyes wide.

Ron shrugged. "I expect it does. I think the only known Philosopher's Stone is up in the third floor corridor."

"No wonder Hagrid wanted a dragon to guard it," Neville said. "You just make the potion, drink it, and you're immortal?"

"You have to keep making it," Hermione said. "Eventually, if you don't, you start aging like a normal person. All it does is halt aging."

"I wonder who's after it?" Ron asked. "All it does is stop aging for a bit? Nice, but… is that all it can do?"

Hermione frowned. "It's also said to restore health. It can bring one back from the brink of death… supposedly. Since there's only one in existence, it's hard to experiment."

Neville lowered his voice. "I wonder if it's… if it's You Know Who after it. I mean… my grandmother thinks he's not dead. She thinks he's going to come back, and if he got his hands on the Philosopher's Stone, he could be back to full strength…"

Ron shuddered and Hermione looked concerned, since she didn't know what it was like to grow up with Voldemort used as a bedtime threat. Harry thought it sounded quite frightening, too… but Voldemort wasn't the only person Harry knew of with an incurable sickness.

"What is unicorn blood good for?" Harry blurted into the awkward silence.

Ron pursed his lips. "I don't know. But it's really illegal, I know that."

"But unicorn hair is used in wands, and unicorn horns in potions and things," Neville said. "Why's the blood so illegal?"

Hermione snatched a book off of Ron's bed and started paging through it. "Unicorn hair and horns can be donated," Hermione explained. "Or, at least, that's what I've read. They can be taken without harming the unicorn at all. But unicorn blood…"

"Unicorn blood can only be taken by killing a creature of pure goodness. There is a curse associated with taking unicorn blood," Harry said softly. "I just do not know what the blood can be used for… why someone would go so far as to be cursed."

"It has some similar effects to the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione said, reading an entry from the book on her lap. "It can… bring one back from the brink of death. But the curse… if someone drinks unicorn blood, they live a half-life. They start to lose their humanity." Hermione closed the book and looked over to Harry. "Why do you ask?"

Harry had been meaning to tell them about the vials, but if he was right, Uncle Re was in very serious trouble. "Oh, nothing. Just… just something Professor Lupin said at detention," Harry explained as vaguely as possible."

Neville and Ron exchanged glances. "What if You Know Who is drinking unicorn blood to survive until he can get the stone?" Ron asked.

"He could attack at any time!" Neville exclaimed. "Except… except, he has to be killing unicorns, so he bodies must be somewhere…"

"I'll ask Hagrid," Ron murmured. "I'm staying over Christmas break because Mum and Dad are visiting Bill. I'll ask him then."

It sounded crazy to Harry. Voldemort, lurking around Hogwarts? Everyone knew Voldemort was afraid of Granpa. He wouldn't be stupid enough to be within sight of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

But if someone was killing unicorns in the Forbidden Forest… Harry knew Uncle Re went collecting specimens for class, there. And Uncle Re was already cursed to be only half human. He was a werewolf. What if Uncle Re was using the unicorn blood, instead? What if Uncle Re was trying to cure himself of the werewolf curse using the Philosopher's Stone? Papa didn't trust Uncle Re; he was only around because he'd been close to Mater, but Harry didn't know anything at all about Mater's friends. He didn't think Granpa would let a Dark Wizard work at his school, but if Uncle Re had killed the first unicorn while he was a wolf, and now had to keep killing them to stay alive until he could cure himself with the stone…

To Harry, it didn't sound that impossible. After all, every wizard knew that werewolves weren't entirely human.

------

For the rest of the week before Christmas Break, while the others tried to decide how Voldemort might attack the school, Harry watched Uncle Re very closely. In the mornings, he sat beside Auntie Min and breakfast and had a bowl of cornflakes and beans. Between breakfast and lunch, he taught two classes. Sometimes, Harry caught sight of Papa pulling Uncle Re aside after meals, but they always looked awkward when Harry approached them. At lunch, Madame Pomfrey would keep loading Uncle Re's plate until he fled the hall. And, at dinner, Uncle Re would sit between Hagrid and Auntie Min, and he seemed to prefer bread pudding for afters - except for the one evening when Madame Trellawney, the Divination professor, tried to sit beside him. That night, he spilled pumpkin juice over his front and fled the hall. Considering Trellawney's appearance, that of a spindly beetle, Harry couldn't blame him.

All in all, he didn't behave like someone cursed by unicorn blood. In fact, he acted more normal than Papa. Whenever Harry interrupted his conversations, Papa would either growl and send him away - or clam up, as though he'd been talking about Harry behind his back. It was especially bad when Papa was speaking with Uncle Re or Auntie Min.

However, after Ron spoke to Hagrid, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Uncle Re was the culprit. Hagrid revealed that a unicorn died on the night of the full moon, and wasn't the first such creature to die.

Without any new leads and stressed by the loads of end of term homework, Harry was very happy when the weekend came around. Most of the students in his dormitory began packing earlier in the week, except for Ron, who was staying for the holiday. On that Saturday morning, mere hours before the train pulled out of the station, he finally opened his trunk. Harry was a bed over, trying to decide whether or not he'd have time to read ahead in the History of Magic textbook. "Harry," Ron said abruptly, "what if he comes during the holiday?"

"What?" Harry asked, glancing up. He tossed the textbook into the 'leave' pile. "Who comes where?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "You Know Who, of course. Come here. Like we've been talking about all week…"

"Oh," Harry sighed. "That." He tried not to look guilty, but he was fairly certain he failed at it.

"You think we're all mental," Ron said. He shrugged. "Maybe you're right. But, if not… if You Know Who really is out there, in the forest… what then? What if he attacks while you're all celebrating Christmas, and I'm here alone, with my brothers?"

Harry tried to give a reassuring smile. "Granpa would not leave the castle unprotected. In fact… I am probably in more danger for Christmas than you are." Especially since Uncle Re would be spending most of the holiday with them, as he had no blood relatives of his own left.

"Somehow, that doesn't reassure me," Ron muttered. Nevertheless, he went back to cleaning out his trunk, which looked to sorely need it.

------

After most of the students headed home on the Hogwarts Express, the few remaining over the holidays gathered in the Great Hall with the teachers for dinner. Harry found a seat between Ron and Percy, and across from two upperclass Hufflepuffs that he didn't know. Papa and Uncle Re sat side by side, while Hagrid passed a bottle of Firewhiskey among the professors.

Ron leaned over to whisper to Harry. "They look like they're celebrating, don't they…? I wonder what they do when spring term's out…"

"They drink themselves into a stupor and play Exploding Snap," Harry whispered back.

Ron giggled, then cut himself off with a blush. "You're not serious, are you?"

Harry shrugged. "If I were joking, would I tell you that?"

"Wanker," Ron replied, and Percy reached around Harry to smack the side of Ron's head.

After dinner, Harry and the Weasleys returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry finished his packing while the twins and Ron sat around in the dormitory. "You'll write?" Ron asked. "Cause if, you know, anything happens, I'll be sure to write you. If I'm not dead."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I am sure you'll be here, in one piece, when Christmas is over. I am not worried."

"You're not thinking our gift would kill you, are you?" Fred asked. Or, it could have been George. Harry wasn't sure.

The other twin picked up the thread of the conversation. "Maim, maybe. Never kill."

"Oh, bugger off," Ron snapped. "Why've I got to be stuck with only you lot for company?"

The twins exchanged amused glances. "Well, Perfect Percy the Prefect is downstairs with him homework… you could be hanging with him instead…"

"Don't remind me," Ron muttered. "He's boring as -"

The dormitory door creaked open, and Ron cut himself off, lest Percy be the one on his way in. Instead, it was Papa. The twins cringed a bit under the professor's glare. "Misters Weasley," Papa said, greeting them. "Have a… Happy Christmas. Now, Harry, it's time to go. If we don't leave immediately, our guests may arrive home before we do."

Harry frowned as he levitated his trunk. "Guests?" he asked. "But I thought just one student…"

"Remus is a guest as well, remember."

Actually, Harry had forgotten that the werewolf would be staying with them. He'd been so busy following Uncle Re's every move that the chance for prolonged observation had slipped his mind. However, he still felt a need to defend himself to his father. "He is family," Harry said. "He does not count as a guest." Harry turned to wave to his friends. "Happy Christmas. I will see you soon."

Ron and the twins waved goodbye, and the dormitory door closed. "There are… two guests. Not merely one," Papa admitted, after the students could no longer hear the argument.

Harry scowled. "We will have the whole of Slytherin House if you keep inviting others."

"That is a severe exaggeration," Papa said, returning Harry's scowl. "And, for your information, only one of our two guests was in Slytherin. As for the non-Slytherin, I'm doing a favor for several old friends."

As they marched across the Common Room, Harry waved to Percy. "Who are the guests?" he asked. "You did not tell me names when you mentioned it before."

Papa gestured for Harry to precede him through the potrait hole. "It is a… bit of a surprise."

"I'm not fond of surprises," Harry muttered. He would've pestered Papa a bit more, except that Uncle Re was waiting in the hall.

"Hello there, Harry," Remus smiled. Harry allowed himself to be hugged, but pulled away much more quickly than normal. After all, if Uncle Re really was cursed by the unicorn blood, Harry didn't the curse brushing off on him… if curses could rub off. He wasn't very knowledgable on that point.

Uncle Re frowned and seemed ready to make a fuss of Harry's reaction, but Papa set a hand on Harry's shoulder and steered him toward the Headmaster's office. "We're late, Remus," Papa pointed out.

"I doubt your guests would mind all that much," Uncle Re replied. "Neither is Muggle-born. They won't destroy your magical possessions with curiosity."

Papa snarled. "You still think that was an accident, don't you! They put her up to that, they did!"

"Who destroyed what?" Harry asked.

Both Uncle Re and Papa immediately looked gloomy. "It was nothing," Uncle Re said. "Just… something that happened a long time ago."

It was the same expression Papa wore whenever he remembered Mater. Harry huffed. "You never tell me stories about Mater," he whined.

Papa looked pained, and Harry knew he'd won. "I had a dicto-quill, seventh year of school. It was a birthday gift, from my father. I… set it up in class to take notes, so I wouldn't have to pay attention. Not exactly an original scheme, but I spelled the quill and myself with a do-not-notice charm so Professor Flamel wouldn't see that I was sleeping in class. I already knew most of the potions material."

"Worked wonders," Uncle Re said, a smile creeping onto his face. "Except for one thing… the avoidance spell only worked on one person at a time, so the rest of the class could see what he was up to. And, your father being Slytherin and your mother being Gryffindor…" Uncle Re merely shrugged.

"That's one explanation for it," Papa snorted. "I still think James and Black convinced her to -" He cut himself off abruptly. "Well," he said, trying to cover his slip of names, "your mum had never seen a dicto-quill before, being Muggle-born. She was sitting in front of me. She took it while I slept and was experimenting with it. But, when I woke up and noticed my quill was gone, I gave a shout, and she dropped it…"

"… right into a half-finished potion," Uncle Re broke in, a devious smile crossing his face. "The ink and feather combination mixed with whatever it was we were making that day, and set off an explosion so violent that it burned Severus' eyebrows off." Uncle Re dissolved into laughter.

Harry couldn't blame him, even though Papa seemed less than amused. Harry was trying to hold back his giggles. "Her eyebrows were only protected because she'd turned to yell at me for startling her. And I still think J- her friends wanted the quill for their own nefarious purposes."

Uncle Re waggled his eyebrows. "You wouldn't be wrong, there."

Harry followed Uncle Re and Papa up the stairs to the Headmaster's office. The only working floo stop in the building was there. Uncle Re and Papa went on to argue about something else, as was their normal routine. However, they left Harry with a bit of information to consider - James had been in Gryffindor, in Papa's year, and was friends with someone named Black. Suddenly, Harry didn't want to leave. He wanted to run down to the library to solve his mystery, even if the information did nothing to help him.

Instead, he followed Papa and Uncle Re through the fireplace to greet the guests he didn't want for Christmas.

They were waiting for them on arrival. Two very familiar faces were in the entry hall, surrounded by luggage. Harry let out a loud gasp and started to choke on the fireplace dust from their Floo trip. Papa turned to him with a curious expression. "You recognize them? You were only six the last time you saw them…"

Charlie Weasley smiled and waved cheerfully. "Hullo, Harry!"

"It's been a long time," Dina winked, stepping over to ruffle Harry's fringe. Her thumb brushed over the itchy part of his forehead and Papa shot her an annoyed look. "Thanks for taking me and Charlie for the hols, Professor. When his parents decided to head to Egypt, we weren't sure where we'd bunk…"

"I suggested we pop in on her parents, but we decided that wasn't such a great idea…" Charlie said, side-stepping Dina's swipe in his direction.

Papa rolled his eyes. "As I've told you before, you are always welcome here. Now, as I'm sure you've brought a plethora of pictures of your Romanian adventures, why don't we adjourn to the study…"

Dina followed Papa and Uncle Re stepped up to Papa's other side. Charlie leaned over to whisper to Harry. "Delivery complete, mate. You can tell Hagrid that his dragon's happy on the preserve." With another wink, Charlie tossed an arm over Harry's shoulders and herded him in the direction of the others.

Maybe Christmas wouldn't be so bad, after all.


	15. The Dark Forest

A/N: Herein, we see a bit of the Lupin who brought four-year-old Harry Potter to the castle, all those years (and chapters) ago. Also, Herodos begins to have a hunch.

Chapter Forteen: The Dark Forest

By the end of break, the manor was starting to feel like home. Harry, Dina, Uncle Re and Papa had breakfast together, while Charlie lazed about in bed until nearly lunchtime. Charlie and Dina took Harry down to London to shop for Papa and Uncle Re, and Charlie managed to get them lost searching for a famous Muggle toystore, Hamley's. On Christmas itself, everyone exchanged presents, and Dina teased Harry about Hermione's gift, as if she was an older sister. Uncle Re did nothing suspicious, Harry thought. He and Papa merely traded their normal barbs and, since Charlie and Dina knew that Uncle Re was a werewolf, Papa's insults got a little meaner.

And then, the break was over, and it was time to get back to Hogwarts. Charlie took Dina off for a week at the Burrow, the Weasley family home. Harry packed up all his new treasures in order to show them to his friends. Papa closed up the dining room, and Uncle Re went back to wearing his drab professor cardigan instead of his festive holiday sweaters.

Ron and Percy were waiting to meet Harry in the Gryffindor Common Room, the night before the other students took the train back. "Merry Christmas, Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "Thanks for the cap!" Harry had gotten him a Chudley Cannons hat, as that was his favourite Quidditch team.

Ron's gift to Harry was a Norwegian Ridgeback figurine that pranced around on the palm of his hand and breathed tiny, harmless flames. "Cool dragon," Harry replied. "Charlie quite liked it."

"Charlie?" Ron asked. Percy looked up from his pile of books. "Not my brother Charlie…"

Harry nodded. "He was the secret guest."

"But I thought he was spending the holiday with his new girlfriend's family," Percy remarked. "At least, that's what his letter last week said."

He was fairly certain he was glowing in his happiness - since Dina's parents were evil gits, it was nice to know she thought of him and Papa as family. "He was," Harry explained. "Me and Papa and Uncle Re. And Dina, of course."

Ron snorted. "Wanker. Not telling us the truth."

"Your language is foul, Ronald. You'll not be wanting to teach Harry those words; I'm sure he picked up enough horrid Greek insults for the both of you," Percy snapped. He grabbed up his books and marched off toward his dormitory.

Harry sat next to Ron on the couch. "Well," Harry asked, "did Kyri- You Know Who attack over the holiday?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I assure you, you'd have heard it on the news. There was some excitement at Christmas Eve dinner."

"Oh?" Harry started eating a chocolate frog from Uncle Re's present - this time, he was careful to read the whole card closely. When he opened it, he gave a yelp of triumph. "Harry Potter! Finally!" Just one away from the whole set. The portrait on the front was empty, since no one was quite certain what the Boy Who Lived looked like anymore.

"Are you listening to me or not?" Ron asked.

Harry flushed and stuffed the card - very carefully, so as to keep it in mint condition - into his bag. "Sorry. Something exciting at Christmas Eve dinner?"

"Most of the specimens from the Defense classroom escaped!" Ron exclaimed. "The Kappas were the worst - great hulking monkeys, they are, covered in these horrible scales - and while the Cornish pixies were easy to catch, Dumbledore had quite the time with the Kappas. There was even a boggart that hid in the Great Hall fireplace! The next morning, when we came for breakfast, it came out and started shifting into these horrible things. It was a rotting skeleton, and a spider -" Ron shuddered, "- and for Dumbledore, it was this great frightening thing in a black robe that made the room, chilled like ice had been poured down all our backs."

"Granpa hunted the specimens?" Harry frowned. "Where was Professor Quirrell?"

Ron laughed. "Oh, he was there too. Bloody ineffective against the pixies. Anyway, Hagrid led us all off to wait in the Ravenclaw Common Room, while the professor searched off in all different directions." He shrugged. "Hopefully, Professor Lupin will be around when You Know Who attacks. I'd hate it if it were Quirrell. He'd stutter so badly that he'd mess up a spell and kill himself by accident!"

Harry couldn't help but look uncomfortable. "I hardly think it would be a fair fight, either way. You Know Who was the most powerful Dark Wizard in centuries. A simple professor could not destroy him."

"Dumbledore destroyed Grindelwald," Ron pointed out.

Eager to avoid an argument, as Harry was quite certain that Kyrios Voldemort wouldn't be stupid enough to try and take Hogwarts when Granpa was around, he changed his subject. "I will need help on my homework from now on. It all has to be in English, and soon Papa will mark down for grammar, too."

"Just keep me safe in Potions," Ron replied. "Your dad can be wicked scary."

Not as scary as a transformed werewolf cursed by unicorn blood, Harry thought, but he kept it to himself.

They were back, and it was time to start making plans.

------

The last unicorn was found dead at the full moon, so Harry set his plans to coincide with the next one. It was particularly difficult to keep his plans secret, since the others were pressuring him to help with their plans to combat Kyrios Voldemort's inevitable attack - and all of Harry's assignments had to be written in English. Between slaving away over a History of Magic essay on the Vampire Revolt of 1231 and giving his input on Neville's idea to leave a potted Mandrake in the castle's foyer, which Voldemort would trip over and cause to scream, thus killing him (Neville had, of course, forgotten that the screams would kill everyone else in the area, too), Harry was barely ready by the next full moon.

The entire plan hinged on one element: Harry's ability at the Chameleon charm he'd discovered in Fred's third-year textbook. After casting it on himself, he'd fade into the background. It was more difficult magic than he was used to, and it certainly wasn't fool-proof. There were more advanced spells that would dampen the sound of his footsteps or disguise the sound of his breathing, but there wasn't time to learn them. Instead, he spent his few free moments casting the spell on himself in his dormitory, then walking down into the Common Room to see if it worked.

Half the time wasn't good enough. He had to be sure he could get it right on the first try, because by the time he saw his chance to follow Remus, there wouldn't be time to check if it worked.

It was already the night before the full moon by the time Harry felt his camoflage was good enough to be tested in the field. He cast the spell several hours after dinner and crept out of the portrait hole, leaving Ron, Neville, and Hermione doing their homework in the Common Room.

The first real test came as he rounded the first bend toward the Defense classroom. Mrs. Norris slunk around the corner. Harry froze. If she caught sight of him, he wouldn't be in trouble, yet - it wasn't quite curfew - but Filch might find a way to punish him anyway. Harry was one of the few Gryffindors who'd escaped Filch's wrath so late into the year. He had no doubt it was due to his father living down in the dungeons.

Mrs. Norris paused just as she passed Harry by, and sniffed lightly. She turned and gave Harry a long glare but, after a moment, headed around the corner toward the Fat Lady's portrait. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Obviously, the spell wasn't cat-proof, but it at least kept Filch's pet from seeing Harry as a threat.

Reassured, Harry hurried down to the Defense classroom. He was hoping to catch Uncle Re before he headed back to his rooms for the night. Harry could hear sound from inside the classroom. The door was propped open, so Harry crouched down and peered inside.

Uncle Re and Professor Quirrell were there, Quirrell hunched over what was probably the next day's lesson plan. Uncle Re was pacing the back of the room. It was because the full moon was so close, Harry knew - Remus took on the most wolf-like of his qualities, then. In class, those were the days they did most of their practicals. Uncle Re was full of energy and bounded around the classroom while seeing how the students were faring. It was entirely different than his attitude in the first days after the moon, when he was so weak he needed a cane to limp around the classroom.

"You'll be w-well enough to t-teach the - er - Grindylows, t-tomorrow?" Quirrell stuttered. "B-because I - I don't th-think it would be a g-good idea f-for me to -"

"Yes, yes, I'll be perfectly fine, tomorrow," Remus snapped. "You'll not need to touch them at all. However, I'd like you to copy these notes up in the morning." Uncle Re bounded over and snatched up a pile of paper. "These." He turned to the blackboard, and Quirrell abandoned the lesson plan to follow. "I'll be needing this diagram in the early part of the lesson -"

Harry winced and rubbed his forehead. His headache was coming back, again, and this one seemed to be particularly bad. He held himself up against the wall, so that he wouldn't make noise if he happened to pass out, and tried to keep watching.

Quirrell spun around and stared straight at the door. "Er - P-professor, it's getting a b-bit late, and I'd th-think it's time for me t-to leave f-for the even-ning."

"Oh, alright," Uncle Re snorted. "Go on, then. I'll finish up."

With a nod, Quirrell went for his briefcase. He marched toward the door with a more purposeful gait than Harry had seen from him, before. Harry scooted away from the door and curled up against the wall. He held his breath.

When the door flew open, the pain in his forehead became excruciating. He barely kept himself from crying out. Professor Quirrell stopped and peered around the corridor but, finding nothing, walked away. It took Harry a long moment to recover. He was grateful that he hadn't fainted when Quirrell walked by and lost control of the chameleon spell.

Finally, Uncle Re left the room, too, calling out a quick "nox" as he left. Harry climbed to his feet and trailed after the werewolf. Several times, Remus paused and sniffed the hallway with a confused expression on his face, and Harry was careful to stay very still.

But he didn't head for the forest. He didn't leave the castle at all. Instead, Uncle Re took the main staircase down to the dungeons. He stopped in front of Papa's private rooms and knocked on the edge of the portrait.

It swung open after only a moment. "Remus," Papa said, half a sneer on his face.

Uncle Re rolled his eyes. "Not now, Severus. I think something's going to happen. Something bad… and soon."

"That's helpful. So specific, and all," Papa muttered.

"I think Quirrell is going to make a move." Uncle Re rubbed his forehead. "We just had a meeting. He was acting very oddly… and he smelled odd, too."

Papa shrugged. "He forgot his weekly bath?"

"No," Remus growled. "This is serious… his smell was off. He smelled almost… oily. Grimy. I didn't want to be in the room with him."

"You think it's Quirrell, then?" Papa asked, lips pursed. "He seems so… worthless."

Remus sighed. "He does. But… it's the only lead I've got."

"I want Harry out of class with him, then," Papa replied. "If he's the one… what if he sets up something to hurt him in class?"

"He wouldn't. It would be stupid, it would out him to the whole staff. No… it would be something cunning. Some way we wouldn't be able to trace it to him, not while he was still around." Uncle Re shook his head. "Pulling him out of classes is only going to alert both of them to the fact that something is wrong. Quirrell will hurry his plans, and Harry… Harry will know that someone's after him. He'll be scared, and he won't know what's going on. He'll have questions."

"He already has questions."

"Then why don't you answer any of them?" Uncle Re took a step back into the hallway and peered around. "He's your son, Severus, and the choices are yours, of course… but I think keeping everything from him is only going to make it worse in the end."

Papa shook his head violently. "He's not ready to know. His mother - I think his mother would agree with me, about this. He's only eleven, Remus. An eleven-year-old shouldn't be afraid that someone's going to show up in the night and murder him."

"Not just someone," Uncle Re pointed out. "Not just anyone. This is the bleeding Lord of Darkness we're talking about! Voldemort himself wants _your_ son dead, and if you don't tell him, he'll never be prepared for what he'll have to do, someday…"

"We shouldn't be talking about this out here. We shouldn't be talking about it at all," Papa said, shaking his head.

"We should. We have to. But… you're right. Not out here, not when one of those junior Death Eaters might walk by." Uncle Re pushed past Papa, into his quarters.

Papa growled. As he closed the portrait, Harry could hear him starting to argue. "Not all Slytherins are in league with the Dark, you know. And some Gryffindors I could name…"

Harry was leaning against the wall, trying desperately to keep from hyperventilating. There was a secret, a life changing secret, being kept from him. He was the target of the Darkest wizard in a hundred years - and he had no idea why.

------

He returned to the Common Room immediately, not even stopping when Mrs. Norris meowed in his direction. No one looked up as he entered, and he let the chameleon charm fade away. He noticed Hermione, Ron, and Neville working on homework near the window, but headed up the stairs to the dormitory instead.

Seamus and Dean were there. "Hey, mate," Seamus said. Dean gave a wave over the top of his Astronomy book.

Harry dug through his backpack and pulled out the lists of Jameses. There was only one he had yet to investigate. "Seamus?" he asked quietly, "were you in England when You Know Who fell?"

Seamus shook his head. "My family was living in Belfast. Why?"

"I was - just wondering." He took a deep breath. "What do you think happened to - to Harry Potter? Why is he not here?"

"My mum figures he's hiding out somewhere, waiting to come back until something's right. My da - well, my da's Muggle, so he was struck more by his mum being Muggleborn. Potter's, I mean. He thinks Harry Potter is living with Muggles, to protect him. A long time ago, there were bunches of sightings of him, living in Surrey. There haven't been any in years, so Da thinks they moved to the Continent to keep things quiet." Seamus shrugged. "Me? I think he'll show up, when it's time. After all, they say he didn't kill You Know Who. They say he's still out there, biding his time…"

Dean shuddered. "Stop talking about it. Sounds horrible."

"It was," Seamus said. "Me mum left, hid out with Muggles until it was over. That's how she met Da. She didn't tell him about magic at all, not until they were married, and she still has a Muggle job. Made me go to Muggle primary school, too, just in case You Know Who comes back and we have to leave in a hurry." Seamus looked over at Harry. "I expect your family came through it fine. You were in Greece."

Harry shook his head. "Papa fought," he said simply. "I lived with my aunt." He didn't mention that their home was in Surrey.

"Maybe he won't come back," Dean whispered. "Maybe you're all planning over nothing."

"I hope you're right," Seamus muttered.

Harry didn't say anything. He grabbed his History of Magic text and drew the curtains around his bed.

Instead of starting the homework he wouldn't be able to focus on, he flipped to the back of the text. The story was there, in abbreviated form. No mention of Harry Potter's parents was made; only his amazing childhood feat and subsequent disappearance were mentioned. It was the final sentence in the chapter that scared him the most: _Headmaster Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry refused to reveal where the orphaned Boy Who Lived was taken after October 31, 1981, saying only that the boy was with relatives._

It was silly. It was a ridiculous thought. Harry knew that his mother's husband was probably James Rodgers, who graduated at the same time as Mater and Papa. But… Papa had said that someone was after him, or implied it, at least.

Harry had trouble sleeping, and spent most of the night dreaming of a woman screaming and flashes of green light.

------

He was down to the Common Room a good half an hour before even Hermione would emerge. There was good reason to track down his mother's husband now, if only to disprove his fledgeling theory.

"What are you doing here?" Madame Pince demanded, as she arrived outside of the library to open it up for the morning. "It's 7:30 in the morning!"

"Homework to finish," Harry mumbled.

After a searching glance, Madame Pince allowed him in. Harry rushed to the _Daily Prophet_ back issues and dragged out the thick tome for 1981. The right day was easy to find - even ten years later, the edges of the paper flashed in a rainbow of colour. _Harry Potter Defeats You Know Who_ read the headline in letters that took up a quarter of the page.

The first page story was about the aftermath, the exact event, the reasons why the Killing Curse might have rebounded. As Harry turned the page, he smothered a cry. Right there, larger than life, was a photograph of the man from the picture Papa had shown him, holding the infant Harry Potter. _James Potter, with son Harry_, the caption read. _James Potter and his wife, Lily Potter, were killed in You Know Who's attack on their home in Godric's Hollow_.

Harry slammed the volume shut and fled, ignoring Madame Pince's angry shouts. It couldn't be. There was no way that it was him, that _he_ could be Harry Potter. Harry wasn't even his real name! He was Herodos! Wasn't he? It had to be a coincidence, a terrible and frightening coincidence. There had to be lots of people named Lily in all the British Isles.

Weren't there?

------

"Where were you?" Hermione demanded as Harry crept into breakfast. "Ron and Neville couldn't find you anywhere! I was starting to wonder if you'd snuck out last night and got caught by Filch!"

Harry shook his head mutely.

Neville frowned. "What's wrong? You look like you've walked through a ghost!"

"Papa and Uncle Re -" Harry choked and cut himself off. There was no way he could tell his friends. What was he supposed to say to them, anyway? "Oh, good morning, pass the corn flakes - and, by the way, I'm actually Harry Potter." They'd think he was mad. Or, maybe worse, they'd think he was serious. Harry wasn't a hero. He wasn't special at all. Harry Potter had a scar on his forehead - all Herodos Snape had was a patch of annoying dry skin. "I just found something out," he finally settled on.

"Is it about the phil- the, er, you know what?" Ron asked.

Harry started to shake his head, but thought back to the vials of unicorn blood in the Defense classroom. He'd meant to tell them, and since it wasn't Remus, it would be okay. Plus, he could keep them off the scent of the real surprise - who Harry was. "There were vials of unicorn blood in the Defense classroom. Malfoy found them, during detention, before the holiday. I - I thought it might be Uncle Re. I followed him last night, trying to see if he was going to the Forbidden Forest, but he went to talk to Papa instead. About me. And - and my headaches."

Harry paused. What were his headaches? Now that he thought about it, his head always hurt in the same place, just where Harry Potter was supposed to have a scar, and he had a patch of dry skin. Was he some sort of super-Dark Curse detector, now? It could be useful, especially if Kyrios Voldemort really would be coming after him someday. Right now, it just hurt in the Defense classroom… and Uncle Re had a Dark Curse on him…

"So that's why you asked about it that night… I'd wondered… but what does unicorn blood have to do with your headaches?" Hermione asked. "It doesn't make sense."

Ron shrugged. "Hagrid told me there'd been two unicorn killings. One was quite a while ago, just before school started up."

"Should we be following Professor Lupin, then?" Neville asked. "Since you didn't find anything, Harry?"

He shook his head. "It's not him. It's - I think it's Professor Quirrell."

"That's preposterous!" Hermione exclaimed. "He's - he stutters, and he's afraid of his own shadow! He'd be far too cowardly to attack a unicorn. It takes true evil to destroy a completely pure creature. I don't think Professor Quirrell is capable of it!"

"Papa and Uncle Re were worried." Harry sighed and scratched his forehead. It wasn't Uncle Re it was reacting to, in the Defense classroom. It was Quirrell, cursed by the Unicorn blood. It had to be. "Papa wanted to take me out of class, when Quirrell was teaching."

Neville frowned. "If he's that dangerous, why is Headmaster Dumbledore letting him teach?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "There must be another reason."

"We have class," Hermione pointed out, "and there are too many people here. We should talk about it later." She didn't allow the others time to put in their opinions. Instead, she got to her feet, snagged Neville's sleeve, and started marching off. Neville was forced to follow, and Ron wasn't much behind.

Harry hung back and looked up to the Head Table, where Papa and Uncle Re were deep in conversation. Papa looked over to Harry and smiled. Harry simply turned and left.

------

Professor Lupin prowled around the classroom in the most lupine manner in Harry's memory of the man. Professor Quirrell wasn't attending class at all - Harry wondered if the man was out killing unicorns at that very moment. It didn't seem very likely, though: the image of spindly Quirrell in his enormous purple turban taking on a unicorn did nothing more than cause Harry to snort in amusement when he thought of it. Unfortunately, Uncle Re was close enough to overhear him.

He bounded over and leaned against the table, looking like nothing so much as an angry predator stalking his prey. "You think grindylows are funny, Mr. Snape?"

"Er - no! No, sir," Harry stuttered, trying not to slump into his seat. Even Neville looked a bit taken aback by the professor's strong reaction to a simple giggle.

"Danger is nothing to laugh at, ever. Especially for you. But for all of you, here. Mr. Longbottom, how do you escape a Grindylow?"

Neville gulped. "You - er - break its grip?"

"Yes. But, if you're smart, you won't be close enough for it to grab you in the first place." Sitting directly behind Neville and Harry's table were Ron and Hermione. Harry had a terrible feeling he'd just brought attention to the whole section of the room. "Weasley - how do you survive a vampire attack?"

Harry turned slightly in his chair to see Ron sinking in his seat. They hadn't covered vampires, yet. The question was completely unfair. "Er - s-stake to the heart… or, or behead it… um, garlic…?"

"Wrong," Uncle Re snapped. "You run. Granger - how do you survive the Killing Curse?"

"There's no way to survive it!" Hermione protested. "Only Harry Potter could do it - and no one knows why!"

"Wrong," Uncle Re repeated. He focused on Harry. "Maybe you can answer. How do you survive the Killing Curse, Harry?"

In the back of his mind, there was a flash of green light and a woman screaming. Harry looked down at the ground and hoped Uncle Re couldn't somehow read what he knew from his very gaze. "Don't put yourself on the receiving end of one," Harry whispered.

"Five points to Gryffindor," Professor Lupin said. He stepped back and focused on the rest of the classroom. "There you have it. The most important lesson you can learn: the first step in surviving the Dark Arts is simple avoidance. Perhaps I should have given you the speech earlier, but I thought it unnecessary. However… there are some students who think they can save the world themselves."

Harry's face burned. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Neville looking anywhere but at the Professor.

"Defending oneself against the Dark Arts is not a laughing matter, Mr. Snape. It's not so simple as memorising the textbook, Ms. Granger, nor is it anything like these simple practicals we've been having, Mr. Longbottom." He turned suddenly, focusing on Harry again. "This may be the most important class you ever take. Some of you will face more Darkness than others."

And then, finally, he retreated to the front of the classroom. The grindylow threw itself against the glass of its cage. "There ends the lesson," Professor Lupin said, simply. He turned and swept off toward his office, leaving his class in silent awe.

------

"Do you think Quirrell's been sacked?" Neville whispered as they filed out. "Do you think Professor Lupin told the Headmaster, and that's why he wasn't here?"

"I think he was getting more unicorn blood," Ron said.

Harry shook his head. "I thought that, too, but… what's in the castle at this very moment, guarded and able to undo the unicorn blood curse?"

"Just what I was thinking," Hermione said. "He's after the Stone - and he'll use it to undo whatever's happened to him."

The four of them ducked into a side passage to avoid prying ears. "What if it's not for him!" Neville exclaimed. "Professor Quirrell tells stories about Romania, and there are evil things in Romania. What if he's using the blood on one of them? He smells like garlic all the time - what if it's for a vampire?"

"Yeah! He could be trying to bring a vampire back to life. You know, Fred and George told me that a master vampire was hunting Quirrell. Maybe he's planning to make it mortal, so it'll leave him alone?" Ron said. He shrugged as Hermione gave a sceptical look. "What? It's as good a thought as any."

"Why go to all the trouble of resurrecting a vampire?" Hermione said. "Professor Quirrell could simply stake it and be done with the whole mess."

"He wouldn't be so daft as to put a curse on himself," Neville argued. "It's got to be for someone else!"

Harry agreed with Neville. "There are Darker things than vampires in Romania," Harry said softly.

He caught the attention of the other three in an instant. "Oh? Like what?" Ron asked.

Maybe it would be best not to tell… but Hermione looked ready to dip into research, Neville looked ready to stand at his side, and Ron was raring to go. "Papa and Uncle Re think Voldemort is there."

"That's ridiculous! Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't allow Professor Quirrell to remain a teacher if he were helping his greatest enemy in any way!" Hermione shook her head. "Harry, it's something big, but not like that."

Harry disagreed, but he wouldn't bring it up when Hermione was dead set against it. Instead, he staid silent as the others fought over whether a vampire or Quirrell himself were more likely targets. Harry just rubbed at the ache in his forehead and wondered if he'd ever be rid of it - and if he'd ever be able to live without looking over his shoulders, again.


	16. The Plan

A/N: The end is nigh! The end is written! Don't forget to leave a review - I'd really love to know what you all think.

Chapter Fifteen: The Plan

The next day, Quirrell was back in class, and Uncle Re was off recovering from his night as a werewolf. Harry saw Hermione reading the werewolf section of the Defense textbook, and decided it might be time to mention his uncle's disease to her. She seemed to be just a bit too smart for her own good - Harry wondered how it was she ended up in Gryffindor, rather than Ravenclaw.

He didn't get to wonder for long, however, since the worst headache yet sent him to the Infirmary yet again. Madame Pomfrey tutted as he entered and helped him over to a cot. "Harry, dear, perhaps I should set up a permanent bed for you? Maybe some curtains and personalized linens?" She winked, and he scowled.

"It's not exactly my fault," he complained, but she forced a Pepper-Up potion on him and wandered away to help a petite, second-year Ravenclaw, who had been bitten by a juvenile Mandrake. He had plenty of time to think while steam poured out of his ears.

Kyrios Voldemort wanted the Philosopher's Stone, it was the only explanation, at least in Harry's mind. Maybe Quirrell was keeping Voldemort alive using the unicorn's blood? It was cursed, so perhaps it couldn't restore Voldemort, only keep him from dying. The stone would be needed to cure the curse, and possibly to bring him back to his full power.

For a moment, he considered running to Papa and demanding to know how well the stone was guarded. However, none of them were supposed to know about it in the first place. There would be guards and alarms, maybe more, to keep undesirables from the prize. Granpa ran a very secure school - Papa believed it was the safest place in all of the wizarding world.

No wonder Papa wanted him to go to school here, rather than King Solomon Academie with his cousins. Harry Potter would have to be the most protected person in the world, what with Voldemort wanting him dead.

Except Granpa might not have thought of one factor in his protections: the person helping Voldemort was a staff member, living inside the very same walls as the stone itself. Quirrell might even have been there to discuss the protections on the stone! There had to be something extra guarding it; something to keep Quirrell from simply walking right up to the third floor corridor and taking the stone, and that had to be more than Granpa's presence.

And then he knew. It had to be Fluffy, Hagrid's three-headed dog. Maybe Quirrell didn't know how to get past Fluffy.

But how difficult was it to get information out of Hagrid? Harry barely knew him at all, since Papa thought the half-giant was an oaf. If the fate of the wizarding world hinged on a half-giant's ability to keep a secret, Harry would be very worried indeed.

Hagrid would be the place to start, then.

------

As soon as he had a free moment, Harry hurried across the grounds to Hagrid's hut, just outside the Forbidden Forest. The hut was shabby-looking, just two rooms that were taller inside than they looked on the outside, charmed due to the occupant's height. Harry knocked on the door and waited, examining the pink umbrella laying next to the door as he shivered in the January snow.

The door opened a crack, and Hagrid's enormous eye peered out. After only a moment, it swung open, and Hagrid was in the doorway, looking baffled. "Well, Herodos Snape. Ne'er thought I'd be seein' yeh down this way."

Harry's teeth chattered. "I have a message. About the dragon. Er, Norbert."

Hagrid's gaze softened. "Bout Norbert? He okay? He likin' Romania? 'Cause ifin he's not likin' it, I'll go down there meself and bring him back - just a wee little thing -"

"No, no. Charlie said that Norbert likes Romania." Harry shivered again. "Mr. Hagrid, please, may I come in?"

"Blimey! Forgettin' my manners. C'mon in, Harry. An' call me Hagrid, e'eryone else does." Hagrid stepped aside and Harry crept by him. The inside of the hut was nice and warm and, from beside the fireplace, Hagrid's enormous boarhound growled softly in Harry's direction. "That there's Fang. Yeh missed him when yeh was down here for Norbert. Sit! Sit!" Harry did, at the table, and Hagrid stepped over to the fireplace. "Weren't expectin' company, but I was makin' tea. Care for some?"

Harry nodded. Something warm would be nice to thaw his bones a bit. "Yes, thank you."

Hagrid set a giant teacup and a normal sized one on the table and filled each. "There yeh go. Milk and sugar right here." Once that was done, Hagrid took a seat as well. "Now, what was it Charlie said to yeh? Excellent student, Charlie was. Loved comin' down here to see the animals. Great seeker, too; led Gryffindor to six years of victory."

"So I've heard," Harry grinned. Charlie probably told the stories of Gryffindor victories twice every hour over the holiday, while Dina rolled her eyes and talked to Papa instead. "Charlie said to tell you that Norbert likes Romania and is almost grown now. He flies with many other Norwegian Ridgebacks. He, er…" Harry thought quickly and came up with just a tiny white lie to help his cause. "He wanted to know where you got Norbert's egg. He thought maybe the source might have more, and would like to… rescue them so they do not grow up in poor conditions."

Hagrid's eyes misted over. "Ain't that just like Charlie Weasley. Always wantin' to help the helpless, that one. True Gryffindor. But, I'm afraid I can't help, much. I won Norbert's egg in a card game, down at the pub in Hogsmeade."

"From whom? Did you know the other player's name?"

"Naw. Most types down there don't give 'em. And the other man, he wore a dark cloak. I never quite got a look at his face." Hagrid stared thoughtfully toward the fire. "Bit odd, he was. Really wanted to get rid of the egg…"

Harry held back a sigh. He wasn't getting anywhere at all. "Was he - er - did he seem nice? Did he tell you how he got ahold of the egg?"

Hagrid shook his head again. "Naw, we talked mainly 'bout my job up here. He was int'rested to hear 'bout the magical animals I work with. Don't often find another man in the trade, yeh know. 'Specially interested in Fluffy, he was. Aren't a lot of three-headed dogs around, anymore," Hagrid said, with a wink.

"Oh? What's so interesting about a three-headed dog?" Harry tried to keep his expression innocent. He might not be a Slytherin, but living with one did plenty to help him with his grasp of subterfuge.

"Lots is int'resting 'bout a three-headed dog! Yeh should be takin' Care of Magical Creatures, Harry, that'd teach you what's so int'resting 'bout three-headed dogs. Now, Fluffy, yeh gotta be careful to feed him enough. He gets crabby when he's not fed, and all three heads have gotta eat some. Grumpy, often as not. But the secret to get him to calm down - just play him a wee bit of music, and he calms right down, sleeps like a baby…" Suddenly, a horrified expression crossed Hagrid's face. "Bugger. I shouldn't have said that.

"You told the man at the pub how to get past Fluffy?" Harry gasped. "That means he knows how to get to the Philospher's Stone!"

Hagrid's eyes widened. "Yeh're not supposed to know 'bout that!"

"It's Quirrell!" Harry said, "Quirrell's trying to steal the stone! To take it to Voldemort!"

Hagrid shuddered at the Dark Lord's name. "Quirrell's a profess'r, Harry. Dumbledore wouldn't employ someone workin' for pure evil. And Fluffy's hardly the only protection there! Even if the man from the pub were to come lookin' - and I didn't tell him 'bout the stone, hear - there's protections from a bunch o' the staff. He'd have to get past half a dozen wards and puzzles to get there! Even I don't know all o' the stuff's down there."

"Who else helped guard it?" Harry asked. He had to know how complicated it was.

"I'm not tellin' yeh," Hagrid growled. "Don't yeh be gettin' into trouble. Dumbledore's protections can keep anyone out. Even another profess'r."

"Then it will not hurt if you just tell me who helped with the protections. I do not want the stone. I want it safe. I do not want Voldemort to get it."

Hagrid shuddered again. "Please - stop sayin' the name." He paused, frowning. "Fine. I'll tell… but this had better be enough for yeh. Yer da, Lupin, Sprout, McGonagall, Flitwick, Quirrell, meself, and Dumbledore all helped with it all. Yeh see? Eight separate wards an' such. Stone's perfectly safe, there. An' Fluffy's only the first one. So leave it all be."

"I will," Harry said solemnly. However, in his head, he added a "for now." He had to be certain the stone was safe before he could rest easy. After all, if Voldemort regained his strength, Harry would be the first one he'd come after.

------

Harry talked Neville into keeping an eye on Quirrell during Defense the following day, and skived off instead. Probably, with Uncle Re out for the second day in a row, Harry would end up in the Infirmary with another headache. He was sick of Madame Pomfrey's jokes about permanent residence there.

Rather than class, Harry searched the _Daily Prophet _back copies for the marriage announcement for the Potters. He managed not to cry when he found it, since such a scene would've called the attention of the other students in the library (not to mention Madame Pince, who'd taken to keeping a close watch on Harry). There it was, proof positive of what Harry's real name should be. _On June 16, 1978, James A. Potter and Lily A. Evans were wed by Albus Dumbledore on the Hogwarts School grounds. James, in training to be an Auror, and Lily, pursuing her teaching certificate, will reside in Godric's Hollow_.

He reached up and scratched his forehead. Where was the famous scar, then? And how was it that he'd been able to survive the Killing Curse? He wasn't special, not at all. He wasn't as smart as Hermione. He wasn't good at Herbology, like Neville, and Ron was certainly better at Charms. His Transfigurations were terrible. How was it that he'd defeated the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world, when he was only a baby?

And, perhaps more importantly - how was he going to keep all of this a secret?

------

Hermione tutted when he met up with them at lunch. "You missed discussing Blocking Charms," she said. "I'm positive they'll be on the test."

"You'll have to help me catch up," Harry replied. "I didn't wish to end up in the Infirmary again."

Ron leaned over, his voice hushed. "You think it's Quirrell making your head hurt?"

"I still think he's just allergic to garlic," Neville said.

"It's Quirrell," Harry snapped. "I listened in to Uncle Re and Quirrell talking, two nights ago. When Quirrell left the room and passed me - my head burned. I think I can sense Dark Magic."

Neville was gaping. "Woah. Really? Can you teach me to do that?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know how it is that I can do it," he admitted. "But every time Quirrell is nearby… and we think that he is the one killing unicorns, even if we don't agree on why. Killing them is certainly Dark."

"Maybe you're just allergic to Quirrell," Ron suggested.

Hermione had her eyes narrowed. "I don't know, Harry… It seems awfully odd that you'd just suddenly be able to sense Dark Magic. It seems more likely to be that room."

"It happens whenever Quirrell passes by. If he is quick about it, it does not hurt much at all. If he is slow - then my head hurts a lot. It must be worst when he covers for Uncle Re because he's there for the longest."

"I don't know of any wizards who have the ability to sense Dark Magic. There are spells… they mostly detect certain classes of magic, and Dark spells can be of many different magic classes…" Hermione sighed.

Ron shrugged. "You don't know of any, yes, but you're Muggleborn - no offense. You hardly know any wizards at all, other than the ones here at school."

"Just because I'm Muggleborn doesn't mean I'm ignorant!" Hermione snapped. "I read, Ronald Weasley, which is a skill you might consider picking up!"

"I'm only trying to help!" Ron retorted. "What if he can sense Dark Magic! Think how helpful that would be! He could be an Auror, track down all the Dark Wizards with his mystical headaches!"

Neville broke in, trying to head off an argument between Ron and Hermione. When they got started, it was rather scary how loudly they could scream. Harry was glad for Neville's action - if they were screaming, they were liable to let out some of the things they were all investigating. "Let's assume Harry can sense something in Quirrell, then, whatever it is. His da and Professor Lupin think Quirrell's up to something, too. But what do we do, now? I'll bet the professors have already told Professor Dumbledore their suspicions. If Quirrell is still teaching, Dumbledore probably does not have the proof to fire him. What are we supposed to do?"

"I've found out a bit more about the stone," Harry admitted. He told them all what Hagrid said about Fluffy. "And if it's Quirrell, he's already solved two of the puzzles. He might know more - Flitwick tends to get tipsy over the Christmas holiday, Papa told me. And Sprout loves to talk. Perhaps he has five of eight puzzles answered. With a bit if time, he could solve everything."

"What time?" Hermione asked. "When would he be able to get at the off-limits section without someone noticing? This is a school!"

"We were on break," Ron said. "And on Christmas Eve, all the Defense specimens got out… what if he let them out?" he asked. "What if he used the time he was supposed to be catching the pixies to solve more puzzles?"

"We need to help protect it," Harry said. "We need to make it so the Dark Wizards - whichever Dark Wizard we're speaking of - cannot use it."

Hermione sighed. "How can we possibly add an enchantment that they haven't thought of? We're first years, Harry. We're hardly talented enough to create a ward that a professor would be unable to break."

"It'd be safer if it weren't here at all," Neville muttered.

Harry paused as the answer came to him. "We're not going to add an enchantment. We're going to destroy it," Harry said. "If it's gone, Quirrell won't be able to get to it at all."

Ron's eyes widened. "You can't! What about Flamel? He made the thing - the books said he was over six hundred years old! If you destroy the stone, it'd kill him!"

"If we don't destroy it, Quirrell might kill all of us!" Harry countered. "Just a few weeks ago, you were talking about your plans if Voldemort were to attack the school. Now, suddenly, you think it is overreacting to think Quirrell might be working with him?"

"But he's a professor, Harry!" Hermione moaned. "Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't -"

"Quirrell went to Romania," Harry pointed out. "Papa thinks that Voldemort was in Romania; _Quirrell_ went to Romania and came back acting off. There's a connection there, why don't you see it?"

Ron shook his head. "My brother Charlie lives in Romania, and you don't see him turning up with You Know Who."

Neville, however, looked half convinced. "I think - I think Harry has a point," Neville said, softly. "Whether or not Quirrell is helping… you know, he's still going for the stone. He's still stealing it. If he takes it… he'll do something illegal. We have to stop that."

"The teachers can stop him," Hermione said. "He can't do anything while Dumbledore is here. Dumbledore set up the wards! I'll bet he's watching over them all the time!"

"But what if Dumbledore isn't here?" Harry said. He glanced back and forth between his friends. "I need your help to do this. There are spells we will need to learn… and if we don't do it, Quirrell might get to the stone. Maybe he's taking it to Voldemort, maybe not. But, if he is, we're in danger. All of us. Do you think Voldemort will regain full strength and just ignore the people who fought against him?" Harry looked away. There was one person Voldemort would never ignore - _him._ "Besides," he went on, "even if Quirrell isn't working with Voldemort, he'll do something with the stone when he has it. And he'll come back to have vengeance on the ones who kept the stone from him - the professors. My family. He might hurt them, and… I need your help. I can do it alone, I can learn it all alone, especially if Granpa being here really does keep him in line… but I'm afraid that I might run out of time," Harry whispered.

Neville no longer looked only half-convinced. He simply nodded. "Tell me what to do."

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. "I don't know, breaking into wards the professors created… it sounds awfully illegal…" She sighed. "But… it's to save your family, and if it were my family…"

"Fine," Ron said shortly. "I'll do it. I just think - I think there's more to this than we know."

Neville spoke up. "We're all in danger, Ron, no matter who the stone's for."

They were all in danger, yes - in danger because they were friends with Harry Potter, the Dark Lord's number one target. Harry looked away.

------

"So what is there to do?" Hermione asked. "What's the plan?"

It was finally Saturday, a Hogsmeade day, so all of the students third-year and above were out of the castle. Professor Quirrell was one of the chaperones. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville sat clustered in the corner of the Common Room, pouring over textbooks.

Ron had a scrap of parchment, and was jotting down everyone's ideas. "We should find some way to watch the corridor," he suggested. "Then, if Quirrell shows up, we'll know that we have to stop him."

"By then, it might be too late," Hermione pointed out.

"A silence spell," Harry said.

Neville looked confused. "We'd want to make Quirrell… unable to speak?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "Not that kind of silence. A spell to make a person… silent. When they move. I - in the third year textbook, there is a spell to make one blend into the background. It doesn't hide noise, however."

Ron scribbled about the chameleon charm. "So, that's useful."

"A dampening charm?" Hermione asked. "Is that what you mean, Harry?"

"Yes. Dampening." Harry nodded. "Then when I- we sneak down to destroy it, we can get past spells that depend on noise."

"Or Quirrell watching us," Ron pointed out.

Hermione grabbed a Charms book and started looking for a dampening spell. Neville spoke up next. "Each of those teachers is helping with the defences?" When Harry nodded, Neville looked thoughtful. "I suppose they'll make wards with what they know. Professor Sprout… maybe she'll use a tangle weed. Or Lethe's Bramble - if the thorns prick you, the poison on them will make you forget where you're going."

"McGonagall will transfigure something. Maybe… maybe she'll transfigure the door into a lion? And you have to transfigure it back to get through?" Ron suggested.

Harry shrugged. "It could be anything. Any plant, any transfiguration, any charm. Trying to learn counter spells for specific wards won't help. We need stealth… perseverance…"

"Patience," Hermione countered. "If we're really planning on doing this, we'll need to be patient."

"He could be up there right now, singing Hagrid's dog to sleep," Harry said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "I thought we'd decided that he wouldn't, not while the Headmaster was still around."

Harry snorted. "You decided. I did not agree. I think that the sooner we destroy the stone, the better it will be for all of us. And I am learning the dampening charm."

"You'll learn it once we find it," Neville pointed out, "and if we keep arguing over who's decided what, we'll never have a charm at all."


	17. The Third Floor Corridor

A/N: So. One more to go. Y'all still with me, there? In this installment, we venture up to the out-of-bounds corridor for one explosive encounter… just, not the one Harry's expecting.

Chapter 16: The Third Floor Corridor

Harry started to have nightmares, once Hermione found the dampening charm in the Defense textbook she sneaked from Percy's satchel. The first came just as the snow was beginning to melt, and after a particularly bad session of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry forgot to check the calender before class, and showed up only to realize that the full moon had been the night before. He hadn't fainted - thank goodness, since Malfoy had taken to taunting Harry with his perceived weakness after their detention-causing run in. Instead, he spent class with his book propped open, a sort of shield against whatever Dark vibes Professor Quirrell was sending at him.

He fell asleep in History of Magic, and dreamed that he was stalking the corridors of Hogwarts - walking backward. It was the strangest sensation he could remember feeling, as though he were propped on someone's shoulders and was unable to control his direction. He was blind, too, his eyes blindfolded by swaths of cloth that gagged him when he tried to speak.

All of the nightmares shared those characteristics: being blindfolded and gagged while walking backward. The other details changed, however. Sometimes, he wandered the length of the Great Hall and stared up at the starry, enchanted ceiling. On other nights, he ended up in the Owlery. Behind him, someone sent letters, but Harry couldn't turn around to see who it was. Sometimes, he found himself pacing the out of bounds corridor on the third floor, always stopping before Fluffy's locked room. And, in the most frightening dream of all, he crept through the underbrush deep in the Forbidden Forest. Out of the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse of a gleaming unicorn, always cantoring just out of sight before he could truly see it.

The dampening spell improved, but slowly. It was nearly an O.W.L. level spell, as Hermione pointed out almost every time they sat down to practice. "We should be proud that we can dampen as much sound as we have," she always said.

However, half-silence wouldn't be enough to creep past a magical beast. Harry only hoped that Professor Lupin's choice of warding animal (if his protective choice was an animal at all) was unable to detect magical use.

Hermione and Ron, meanwhile, mastered the chameleon charm with little practice. For Neville, it was much more difficult. He'd taken to creeping around the halls just before curfew, to see if the prefects could spot him and send him to bed.

In mid-March, Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat beside the window in the first-year boys' dormitory as Hermione gave another sigh. "Alright… let's try it again…Ron?"

Ron pointed his wand at his feet and shot a glare at Hermione. "If this chars my toes again, I'm out."

"Just try," Harry sighed. He was exhausted - the nightmares were keeping him up most nights and the homework load had begun taking a toll on his patience. "We'll only spend another fifteen minutes tonight. How's that?"

"Ten," Ron tried to negotiate. "We've got that Astronomy chart due…"

"It's a simple chart of moon phases," Harry scoffed. "New, waxing, full, waning. Tonight is full, yes? Moon cycle is twenty-eight days, divide by four!"

Ron scowled. "And why do you know so much about the moon?"

"Perhaps he's read the textbook?" Hermione snapped. "Or, heaven forbid, listened to Professor Sinistra in class?"

"If you don't stop acting like a complete know-it-all, I'm going to go find Seamus and Dean," Ron threatened.

Hermione looked about ready to shoot off a scathing remark, but Harry shook his head. "Ron, just once more. You're the only one of us who hasn't gotten a partial damper. Then, I'll help you with the moon chart."

"Don't you dare do his homework for him -" Hermione started.

Harry cut her off. "I won't cheat. Who do you think I am?"

Ron finally pointed his wand at his feet again. "_Silencio pies_." He jumped up and scuffed his feet across the stone floor. While their sound was still audible, Harry had to strain to hear it.

"Good!" Hermione exclaimed, arguments forgotten. "That's a start! Why didn't you do it before?"

"I only did it to get you to stop talking," Ron replied.

Before Hermione could work up any more anger, the dormitory door flew open. At first, no one seemed to be there - no one, until Neville dropped his chameleon charm and appeared to pop out of the stone wall. He was panting for air and clutching at a stitch in his side. "Guys - you'll never guess -"

"Neville, you've got it down!" Hermione exclaimed, clapping her hands. "That was a wonderful chameleon charm, I never would've noticed you were there, if you hadn't thrown the door like that!"

"Was in - front hall -" Neville leaned against the wall and wheezed. "Headmaster-"

"Did he see you?" Ron asked. "You didn't get in trouble, did you? I mean, this isn't a first year spell, but we're allowed to work ahead. You could give some rot about wanting to be ready for finals."

Hermione glared. "We _do _want to be ready," she pointed out.

"Guys!" Neville shouted. He staggered over and grabbed Harry's shoulder. "It's happened! Dumbledore - he's left!"

"What?" That was enough to gather their attention. Hermione's eyes widened and Ron merely gaped, leaving Harry to question Neville. "Gone? Gone where?"

Neville gestured wildly toward the door. "I was in the entrance hall. My charm had fallen for a moment. Malfoy and his goons were out. They saw me, so I had to hurry. I saw Dumbledore in his travelling cloak; McGonagall, too."

"Did they say anything?" Harry asked.

"Your dad was there, Harry. They told him they were going to the Ministry - some emergency. Said - said something about being down a staff member for the night." Neville shook his head. "They said they wouldn't be back until early tomorrow. They didn't want to risk the forest twice in one night."

Ron nodded solemnly. "It's the full moon. I've heard there are werewolves in there. I can't believe they're going out tonight, at all."

Harry bit back his defense of Uncle Re - after all, most wizards were raised being afraid of werewolves. He'd be afraid, if it were anyone but his uncle. "Is that it?"

"No," Neville murmured. He glanced around, as though making sure no one else was listening in, and lowered his voice. "Professor Quirrell was behind one of the suits of armor, listening in. I think he heard me, too."

"Then he'll make his move tonight," Harry said. "We have to go, now, before he has a chance to get to the stone."

Hermione shook her head wildly. "Oh, Harry, we aren't ready, yet!"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said. "We have to do it now."

"But your dad?" Ron asked. "Isn't he in charge? Won't he know to watch for Quirrell? I'm sure he'll take care of it. I mean, what could possibly keep him from watching out for us? He's the one Dumbledore and McGonagall left in charge!"

Harry didn't have a good answer for that - at least, not until the door was flung open again. It was Percy, his face bright red as he panted for air. "Quickly, we have to get to the Great Hall."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Perce? What's going on?"

"Snape's orders. There's a troll loose in the castle, and we're short on staff. Professor Flitwick will be by with the Ravenclaws in two minutes - we're all to be down in the Common Room to join up. We'll be safe with everyone else. Hurry, now - I've got to tell the second-years." Percy nodded sharply and dashed down the stairs.

"A troll?" Neville whispered, eyes wide.

Ron and Harry exchanged looks. "This is just what happened on Christmas Eve," Ron pointed out.

"There's no proof that was Quirrell," Hermione said. "I think it probably was - but would he pull the same trick twice?"

Harry winced. "Last time, Papa wasn't here to help. And… Uncle Re is not available, either. He will be without both Dark Creatures experts…" Harry lied. If he could cover up for his uncle in any way, he'd try.

"You're right," Ron said. "We have to do it now."

"But the troll!" Neville yelped. "It's out! What if we run into it?"

"We'll be hidden. We won't make any sound," Hermione said. "Trolls are notoriously stupid - if it can't see us or hear us, we aren't there. We'll be safe. And if Harry and Ron are right, the troll won't be anywhere near the third floor corridor…"

Harry took a deep breath and looked over his little army. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."

------

The dampening charm wasn't working quite the way Hermione expected. Maybe they simply weren't powerful enough wizards to cast it, yet, or maybe she'd gotten the instructions wrong - but they were all bumbling in the dark.

"Ow! Ronald, that's my foot!" Hermione hissed.

"Well, watch where you're going!" Ron countered.

Hermione snorted loudly. "I'd do so, if I could see where you are!"

Rather than ensure silence, the charm had done nothing but make things worse. Their footsteps were muffled, yes. The chameleon charm seemed to be working perfectly, even on Neville. However… it was working too perfectly. Neville (or, at least, Harry thought it was Neville) bumped into Harry's back. "Oh, sorry, Hermione. Er. Was that your foot, again?"

It had been Ron, instead. "I'm Harry," he barked. "And yes, that was my foot. Ow!" An elbow landed in his midsection. "That was my stomach! Stop moving!"

"Just drop the charms," Hermione insisted. "We can put them back on when we get to the corridor!"

"But what about Filch?" Neville seemed to be somewhere across the corridor from the rest of them. Harry knew exactly where Ron was standing and, if the elbow to the kidney meant anything, Hermione was right behind the two of them.

"We could all grab hands," Harry suggested. "Then we'd know if the others stop."

Hermione sighed loudly in Harry's ear. "Honestly, Harry - how are we supposed to find our hands, if we keep stepping on feet?"

"Fine. Drop the charm. We can find hands, and put it back up. How's that?" Ron suggested. "Let's just get this over before my feet are flattened completely."

Harry stopped concentrating on keeping up the illusion. Hermione faded into existence mere inches from his shoulder and stepped back abruptly, right into Ron's appearing form. Neville waved sheepishly. "Sorry. Must have fallen behind," he muttered.

"Not a problem. Now, come over here and take my hand," Hermione commanded. They all joined up, Harry leading and Ron taking up the rear guard.

Ron sighed. "I hope no one comes by. We look ridiculous, parading around like - like - something odd looking."

"That was creative," Hermione snapped.

Ron hmphed and started to reply, but Neville held up a hand. "What was that?" Neville whispered.

They froze. "I don't hear-" Hermione began, but cut herself off as a voice echoed through the corridor.

"It's up this way, it has to be," it said.

A second replied. "Are you sure of all this? All you know is that there's an out-of-bounds corridor and a secret drawer full of unicorn blood."

Harry cast the chameleon charm again and was quickly followed by the others. He backed up against the wall and tugged for Hermione to do the same - he only hoped she managed to pass the message to Neville and Ron with her motions.

It must have worked. As a group of Slytherins turned the corner, none tripped over the Gryffindors camouflaged against the wall. Draco Malfoy shrugged. "Father expects Lupin must have something to do with all of this. Lupin or Quirrell - but Father reckons Quirrell is about as much threat as a flobberworm."

Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin who tried to speak Greek to Harry, was clearly the next brightest of the group. Crabbe and Goyle were there, too, lumbering behind Malfoy in silence. "And he really thinks it's some artefact of the Dark Lord's hidden down there?"

"He doesn't know," Malfoy said. "All he can tell is that there's something down there, protected by multiple wards. Obviously, it's something incredibly important. I'm lucky you managed to catch up to Flitwick pissed over Christmas, Pansy, or I'd be stuck with even less of the information. We know how to get past his ward, at least."

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, and he squeezed back.

"What if it's not the Dark Lord's?" Pansy asked. "What if it's some other artefact? Is it still important?"

"Less so," Malfoy answered, "but Father thinks that if it's important enough to protect, we're the ones who should have it."

Goyle grunted. "Lucky we saw Longbottom in the entryway and heard Dumbledore leaving. Bet we'll cut the Gryffindors off at the pass."

"Don't bet anything," Malfoy countered. "Gryffs are rash, not stupid. I'll bet it's not just Longbottom coming up here - he's too dumb to do anything without a whole slew of Gryffindors around."

Neville squeaked and Harry heard Hermione's robes rustling next to him, as she probably attempted to keep Neville silent. Malfoy and the other Slytherins stopped in their tracks.

"Did you hear that?" Malfoy asked.

"Hear what?" Crabbe responded. He spun in a circle, staring about dully. "Didn't hear a thing."

"Of course you didn't, you've been sleeping," Draco sneered. "Out cold on your feet."

Pansy stared around the hall. "Let's go, Draco. We need to beat them." The four turned the corner ahead.

Harry waited for their steps to die away before whispering. "We must hurry, before they get there!"

"What's the plan?" Ron asked. "Do we go in, wands blazing?"

"Our camouflage will drop once we attack," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe we should attack one at a time to get an advantage?"

"We don't have time," Neville said. "Let's get past them, keep them from getting into the room with Fluffy. We can lock the door from the inside."

Ron spoke up from the back of the line. "Let's move, or we've lost."

Harry started walking, tugging Hermione along behind him. He didn't particularly like the plan - it seemed less than subtle and left a gaggle of Slytherins loose in the third floor corridor - but there wasn't time to come up with anything better.

Parkinson was crouched before the locked door of Fluffy's classroom as they rounded the corner. "It's not unlocking," she said. "I can't get it."

"Well, try again," Malfoy demanded. "Are you certain that's the right spell?"

"It's the one we learned in Charms, isn't it?" Parkinson asked. "I wasn't paying attention - you were telling me about the blasted unicorn blood!" She poked at the lock with her wand. "_Aluhamora. Alohamura!_ Blast - not it either -"

Hermione snorted and hissed, "_Alohamora_, of course."

Malfoy spun around, wand at the ready. "Who's there?"

"I heard that, I did," Crabbe said dangerously. He and Goyle took to Malfoy's sides, and Parkinson flanked Goyle. "Come out, come out, little Gryffindors."

Hermione dropped his hand and dove to the side, but Harry was too surprised to react. Almost in unison, the Slytherins raised their wands and, as one, cast their curses. "_Finite incantatem!_"

The four beams converged on Harry and were strong enough to send him stumbling, fully visible, against the wall. As he did, a sharp pain went rolling through his head. Harry grabbed his forehead, looking around for Quirrell - everything was fuzzy from the pain. His hands felt wet.

Hermione, Neville, and Ron attacked. None were particularly good at dueling - after all, they were only first-years. They didn't really have enough spells to duel. Hermione's Jelly-Leg Hex was countered by Malfoy's "_Serpensortia,_" a favourite of Slytherin House. Neville took out Crabbe with a tickling charm, but was slowed down by Goyle's half-successful freezing charm. Ron tried to trip Parkinson, and she dropped her wand. Instead of stooping to pick it up, she launched herself at him instead.

"_Petrificus Totalis!_" Hermione cried, skipping out of the way of the snake's bite. Her curse missed Malfoy, as he ducked to the side, but hit Goyle, instead. The thug froze up and fell over. Neville, slowed by Goyle's spell, was unable to get out of the way. He went down under the Slytherin's greater weight and cracked his head on the floor.

Ron smashed Pansy across the face with his fist, still holding his wand, but she seemed to be made of more solid stuff than he'd anticipated. Pansy let out a cry of pain and clawed at Ron; she grabbed his tie and yanked. Ron dropped his wand, and his hands went to his throat, trying to pull the tie looser. Pansy, sensing an opportunity, reached for his fallen wand.

Draco's serpent was finally crushed under the heel of Hermione's shoes. Malfoy, however, used the extra moments to his advantage. He shouted a curse Harry didn't recognize, and Hermione's shoes seemed to be bonded to the stone of the corridor. Hermione gave a cry and tried to yank her feet off of the floor, but failed.

She started to cast a "_Wingardium leviosa_" on Malfoy, probably the first counter she could think of, but Malfoy was faster. He ducked out of the way and snatched the wand right from her hand.

The only pair left dueling were Ron and Parkinson. Pansy had her wand to Ron's throat but, while Malfoy and Hermione were dueling, Ron managed to grab Pansy's tie. Neither seemed to be able to breathe well; Pansy couldn't cast a spell.

"Stop!" Harry cried. Heavily leaning on the wall, he stumbled to his feet. "Stop hurting each other!"

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. She tried to head to his side but, still stuck to the corridor, managed only to waver on her feet. "Oh, God! Harry, you're bleeding!"

That must've been the wetness, then. Harry wiped his forehead with his sleeve; the white Oxford shirt came away red. "I'm okay," he lied. "Draco, stop - you're not after what you think!"

Pansy let out a gurgle. Malfoy turned his wand on the pair grapling on the floor just in time for Ron to shove Pansy between Malfoy and himself. Ron's arms were longer, it seemed - Parkinson couldn't reach his throat when he shoved her to arms' length. Her grip wavered, and Ron snatched his wand away with his off hand. "I've got five older brothers," he panted, "did you really think you could beat me in a fist fight?"

"I think we're at an impasse," Harry said softly, wiping at his forehead again. The pain seemed to be fading, and the blood was no longer flowing down into his eyes. Had he really hit the wall that hard? "There are three of us, Malfoy, and only two of you."

"You don't know what you're going after," Ron said. He shook Pansy, whose eyes were wide. "You'll get us all killed, d'you hear me? The bloke who's after it is mad!"

But Pansy wasn't looking at Ron. She was staring over his shoulder at Harry. "Draco," she gurgled, trying to pry Ron's hand off her throat, "look - look at Snape!"

And Malfoy did. So did Hermione, who let out a yelp. "What is it?" Ron asked, unwilling to put his back to the enemy. "What's wrong with Harry?"

His forehead was tender from being split open on the stone. Harry patted the cut lightly, hissing at the pain that went shooting from his forehead all the way to his toes. The cut was across the old, dry patch of skin, which he'd always hidden under his fringe - but the skin wasn't irritated anymore. "What is it?" he whispered. "Why are you staring at me?"

"You're him," Hermione said, voice trembling. "Oh, God. Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry gulped and looked away from her betrayed gaze.

"You killed him?" Malfoy said softly. Harry glanced over to him - the wand fell from Draco's hands and clattered on the ground. "_You_ did it? You're just - you're a Gryffindor, you're _Snape's_ kid, and you killed the Dark Lord?"

"What?" Ron gasped. He let go of Parkinson, shoving her away, and turned on Harry. "Merlin," he said simply.

Pansy scrambled for her wand. "Draco, we should - we should do - what should we do? Father - my father and your father -"

"He's Snape's son," Draco said helplessly. "Snape's son destroyed him."

"Harry?" Hermione whispered.

Ron laughed. "We should've known. What sadist would name his kid 'Herodos'?"

Harry trembled, still touching the cut with his fingers. He didn't need a mirror - he knew what it would look like. A scar shaped like lightning, etched permanently into the flesh of his forehead. He remembered, then, remembered Granpa touching his forehead and whispering magic words, and the itch that wouldn't stop. This was his fault. This was all Granpa's fault.

"You're Harry Potter," Pansy said, on the edge of hysteria.

Harry looked up into four betrayed glances. "I am," he whispered.

Malfoy's gaze darkened and he dipped down, toward his wand. Hermione lunged for Malfoy and managed to push him to the side as she went stumbling out of her shoes. Ron tripped Pansy to the ground as she stepped forward, but her hands were fumbling for his wand, even as she went down. Hermione wrestled for Malfoy's wand. "Run!" she screamed.

He didn't pause for his own wand, and the sound of shouts faded behind him.


	18. The End

A/N: So, this is it. In several moments, I'll be uploading the Epilogue, as well. Reviews are greatly appreciated - if you haven't left a note letting me know what you think, feel free to do so!

Chapter 17: The End

Harry raced through the corridors, taking the corridors blindly. He flattened down his fringe - somewhere in the castle, Uncle Re was a werewolf. There was a troll somewhere else, being tracked down by Papa and the other professors. The students were in the Great Hall, and if the way his friends and the Slytherins reacted were any sort of representation of the student body, he'd want to stay as far from the hall as possible.

So, where to go? He turned and started to backtrack. Though the Slytherins would probably be coming after him, if they managed to overcome Hermione and Ron, the safest place in the school would be the dungeons. Papa's office.

The stairs were just right, as though someone had set them to send him straight to the dungeons. However, as he stepped out onto the first flight, he heard a crash coming from below, followed by a shout.

Harry peeked over the stair-rail. At the bottom of the staircases, he caught sight of a large shadow on the stone floor. Words echoed from below: "Filius, take the left!" "Severus, watch your back!"

Then a howl of pain, followed by what was undeniably Papa's voice: "Damnit, Flora, watch your hexes!"

It had to be the troll. There wasn't another way down to Papa's office, not while the stairs were frozen in place.

Harry backed up into the hallway, still staring out into the stairwell. Where else could he go? Uncle Re was probably in his well-warded office, wiling away the moonlight hours. He didn't know Granpa's password; he could easily spend hours naming obscure candies for the gargoyles without guessing it. If he took these stairs at all, the professors down in the dungeons would probably hear him. And, he was wandless - no dampening spell and no chameleon charm could mask his direction.

There was only once choice, then. He'd have to return to the third floor to ask for help. If Hermione and Ron were overpowered, it would be a terrible mistake - Papa made it very clear what side the Malfoys had been on in the war. However, what other choice did he have?

A suit of armor stood to one side of the hall. Harry crept up to it and peered at his reflection in the dim light of the corridor. He looked the same as always: his eyes were round and so startlingly green that he stood out in Greece. His hair hung limply past the tops of his ears, always ignoring anything he tried to make it do, and his nose looked too big for his face. But there, peeking out from under the untidy fringe, was the scar.

No wonder Hermione looked so shocked: the scar was deep and black, and the skin around it was inflamed. Worse was the dried blood crusting around it. It was hideous, and even his hair couldn't hide it.

Would he ever get used to seeing it in the mirror? He was Harry Potter, he was the Boy Who Lived. James Potter died to save him, even though Mater lied to him. And Mater died, too, without telling Papa anything. He'd been left with the relatives he could barely remember until, for some reason, Papa came and took him away.

It wasn't all a lie. Papa probably hadn't lied to him at all - he just withheld the truth. Could Harry really blame him? After all, how would it have been, to grow up in England when everyone knew his name and knew he was a bastard? What would it have been like to go to school here, and have everyone expecting wonders, when he was just a boy?

He sniffled and fought back a flood of tears. "I am Harry Potter," he whispered to his reflection. It said nothing back.

However, in the suit of armor, he caught a flash of something. Before he could turn around, a hand clamped onto the neck of his robe and yanked him back. "You are, indeed," a voice hissed, "and you're my ticket out of here."

Harry tried to jerk away, but the other person was taller and stronger than the eleven-year-old. Finally, he settled for looking over his shoulder - straight into the face of Professor Quirrell. "P-professor?" Harry stammered, looking for an escape, "What are you doing here?"

"Little boys shouldn't be roaming when there are trolls about," Quirrell murmured. Without the stammer, his voice was low and silkly. Deadly. "Aren't we lucky that you decided to break the rules?"

"Papa's only a few floors away. If I scream, he'll hear me," Harry said.

Quirrell smirked. "Oh, yes, dear Papa. How is it, then, that James Potter's only son… really isn't James Potter's son? How is it that a Death Eater's son caused the fall of the most powerful wizard on earth?"

"Granpa's more powerful than Voldemort could ever be," Harry snapped. He jerked back, and his robes tore from Quirrell's hand. The escape wasn't as useful as it could've been - now, Harry was trapped in the corner between the suit of armor and the wall.

"He wasn't smart enough to know it was me, was he?" Quirrell said. "Maybe he's getting a bit senile, in his old age. He left the castle… left your Dark Wizard of a father in charge… how smart could the man possibly be? He left me _you_."

Harry gulped and tried his best to burrow between the armor and the wall. "You don't want me," he said. "You want the stone. You need the stone to cure Voldemort. Papa and the other professors will take down the Troll - you're wasting your time on me."

"Wasting time? I hardly think so. After all, you are the reason he fell, all those years ago. You'll be the first to fall before him now."

Suddenly, another voice filled the hallway, serpentine and dripping with darkness. "_Let me see him, Quirrell_," it said.

Harry shuddered - it was the same voice Quirrell had been arguing with, the night he'd been hiding in the corridors. Quirrell looked up and to the side, as if communicating with something far above them both. "But, Master - you are not ready - you are not strong enough-"

"_Silence! I command you, let me look on the face of the boy who bested me!_"

Quirrell took half a step back - not enough for Harry to escape. He reached up and began to unravel the turban on his head. The smell of rot filled the hall, coupled with the stench of garlic. Harry thought back to the dreams he'd been having, of walking backward down halls wearing a blindfold, and had a terrible feeling about what would happen next.

He was right. The last of the purple fabric fell to the ground and Quirrell turned around, slowly. There, on the back of his head, was a second face. It was hideously ugly, protruding like some malignant growth. "_Harry Potter_," it hissed, "_our very own celebrity_."

Harry had only one chance. Though Voldemort had his unnatural gaze on him, Quirrell's back was turned. If he could get past now, he might make it to the stairs, in order to call for help. Without wasting another moment on thought, Harry ducked past Quirrell's shoulder and started to run.

"_Grab him_!" Voldemort commanded. "_Hold him! He must not escape!_"

He was only a few steps from the stairwell when Quirrell caught his robe again. Quirrell threw him down to the floor and kept him there, one boot settled firmly on Harry's chest. "Don't try that again," Quirrell said, menacingly. "Not that you'll have a chance, anyway… please, Master, let me kill him! Let me destroy the one who would destroy you again!"

"_Not yet_," Voldemort hissed. "_First, the Philosopher's Stone. We should take him with us. If the Traitor Snape comes after us, we shall use him as a shield. The traitor will not harm his own._"

"My friends are up there!" Harry blurted. "They all know you're coming! You won't get past them!"

"_Students_," Voldemort replied, and Harry could hear the sneer in his voice. "_You think mere students can overpower Lord Voldemort?_"

Harry snarled and fought to push Quirrell's heel away. It didn't help. "Why not students?" he taunted. "A baby destroyed you, last time."

Voldemort roared, and Quirrell tossed his head back. The Dark Lord's sudden anger gave Harry another chance. While Quirrell was occupied, Harry punched his kneecap. Quirrell howled and crumpled to the side, allowing Harry to roll out of the way.

"_Nooo! Don't let him escape!_"

He was crawling toward the stairwell - he pulled himself toward it, one handed - and then, Quirrell's heaver body collapsed onto him. Quirrell grabbed his shoulders and flipped him onto his back, leaving his head and shoulders hanging over the stairs. "Please, Master," Quirrell begged.

"_Kill him_," Voldemort said. "_Kill him with our hands. There will be no mistakes, this time._"

Harry tried to scream, but it was cut off as Quirrell wrapped his hands around Harry's throat. It wasn't Harry's sound that rang out, however - it was Quirrell, who jerked his hands back in shock. "Master! It burns!"

"_Destroy him! NOW!_"

Quirrell seemed to be forced into it. He wrapped his hands around Harry's neck again, even as Harry tried to scoot back. Half his body was hanging over the stairs, now - only Quirrell's greater weight kept him from falling down them.

His air was cut off, and Quirrell was screaming. Harry reached out, instinctively, to try and shove Quirrell off. His hands met the flesh of the professor's face, and the screams grew louder. Harry could feel something happening - he could feel the flesh melting, turning to ash under his fingers.

Quirrell's screaming became a chorus. The man finally let go and staggered back. Harry caught a glimpse of him, form melting toward the floor. It was only a single glance, though - as Quirrell removed his weight, Harry lost his balance on the top of the stairs. He slid down, his shoulder lodged against a step, and the rest of his body went into a tumble.

Gravity was against him. He couldn't stop himself - he was screaming now, too, and the landing was coming ever nearer. He thought he heard Papa's voice, calling his name, and then he hit. Headfirst, into the stone; pain flashed through his body, something snapped, and blackness erupted.


	19. Epilogue: The Cost of Living

A/N: It's hard to believe this is the last part! Don't forget to leave a note, to let me know what you thought. It's been a long journey since I started this… thanks for hanging along for the ride.

Epilogue: The Cost of Living

It took only one glance at the ceiling - Harry knew immediately that he was in the infirmary. He'd never hear the end of it from Madame Pomfrey, not this time. Of course, he'd take her snide comments over being, well, dead. And for that matter, why wasn't he dead? He was fairly certain it had been his neck that snapped when he landed on the stairs. Was he paralysed, then? He wiggled his toes, and let out a sigh of relief when he could feel them moving.

"Ah, so you are awake," came a voice to his right. Harry opened his eyes and glanced over - it was Granpa, his blue eyes twinkling as he smiled down at him. Granpa was in a chair at Harry's bedside, a thick book open on his lap. "Your father and I have been quite worried, Mr. Snape - not to mention your uncle, aunt, and friends."

Harry rolled onto his side, away from Granpa. The name stung now that he knew it wasn't really his. "Don't you mean Mr. Potter?" he snapped. "Isn't that my name?"

"It was, a very long time ago," Granpa said. He reached over and set his hand on Harry's shoulder; Harry shook him off. "Herodos, please, do stop that. Your name is really your name. It was made legal long ago. You are still you. We are still your family, as we have always been. This doesn't change you. This is just… another layer."

"Why didn't Papa tell me?" Harry whispered. "Or you, or Uncle Re, or Aunt Min. Why didn't anybody say anything?" Harry sat up, ignoring the sudden feeling of nausea. His hands were wrapped in bandages, he finally noticed, and his forehead still ached. "I - I murdered somebody, didn't I."

It wasn't a question. Granpa shook his head and answered anyway. "Professor Quirrell died, Harry, yes. But you didn't murder him. He couldn't touch you - your very skin is filled with the love we all have for you, the love that your mother had for you; love so powerful that two people have given up their lives. He couldn't touch such purity of love, not one cursed as he."

Harry stared down at the bandages, poking at the sheets. "What happened after - after I fell?"

"Severus heard your scream, as did your friend Hermione. It seems she, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Longbottom were searching the school for you."

"They won the duel?" Harry gasped. He thought for certain Malfoy and Parkinson would know Dark enough curses to win anything.

Granpa winked. "I'll just pretend I didn't hear that." He closed the book and set it aside. "Anyhow, your father found you on the stairs, and Miss Granger found Professor Quirrell, just a pile of ashes. You'd broken several bones, but it's nothing Poppy hadn't seen before. She treated Charlie Weasley's Quidditch injuries, after all - a more accident-prone youth I've never met. And now, you are awake."

"And Voldemort?" Harry asked. "When I - killed Quirrell, did he die, too? Is he gone?"

"Not gone, no," Granpa said, the barest hint of a frown crossing his face. "No, I'm afraid your part in all this is not done… He is weakened again, and it may be years before he can find another host. And… there are other ways for him to regain his strength; Darker ways. But for now, he is beyond all our powers."

Harry tried to vault out of bed, suddenly remembering his quest. "The Philosopher's Stone! Granpa, the Slytherins - they were trying to get it, to take it to their parents, and one of them might give it to Voldemort -"

Granpa grabbed Harry's shoulders and pushed him back into bed. "Calm, my boy. It's all been taken care of. The stone has been destroyed… which is what I should've done months ago. Nic agrees it is all for the best. But you were out trying to protect it, even when you knew a troll was loose?"

"Er - not protect it," Harry admitted, blushing. "Destroy it. We had to make sure Voldemort could never touch it."

"Dear boy," Granpa laughed, "sometimes I do believe you have more sense than I!" Granpa patted his head, and Harry realized he had a bandage wrapped around it.

Harry held up his hands. "What happened? Why did my head - my _scar_ - hurt whenever Quirrell was around?"

"Your hands were burned when you burned Quirrell… and as for your scar? You do know when it was given to you, correct?" Harry nodded and pressed his hand to the bandages on his forehead. "I think that it's a very special curse scar, Harry. I think when Voldemort marked you, he left you a bit of a connection to him. Whenever Quirrell walked by, the host for Voldemort's essence, the scar reacted. A very useful too, I do believe… especially considering who you are."

Harry sighed. "He'll be after me, won't he."

"Yes, he will," Granpa said. "And things will not be easy. I don't know how it was that the glamour hiding your scar was broken - it was quite a powerful piece of magic - but, unless you wan't me to Obliviate the whole of the school, the story has already broken."

"It was the Slytherins," Harry said. "Malfoy, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione, Neville, Ron, and I were hidden under a chameleon charm, going up to destroy the stone. Our footsteps were dampened, but they could hear our clothes rustling. They all cast finite incantatem at the same time. I was caught in the cross-fire."

"Mmm. I hadn't thought of the possibility of amplified spells… Ahh, but what's done is done. You know who you are, now."

Harry winced and grasped at the questions he wanted to ask - there were hundreds, so many he couldn't choose. "Why did Voldemort kill my mum?" he asked finally. "Why did he choose us?"

Granpa sighed. "That is something I can't tell you, not yet. When it is time, Herodos… Not even your father knows the answer to that one."

"Are there any other secrets, then?" Harry said. "I feel like everything has been kept from me, like what I'm living is just a lie."

"There are so many secrets…" Granpa said. He looked old, then, the oldest Harry could remember. "They will be revealed in their own time, Herodos. For now… for now, your papa will want to see you."

Harry wondered how he did it - before he could so much as open his mouth with demands for more answer, the infirmary door was flung open, and Papa came dashing through. There were deep circles under his wild eyes, and the lines his face seemed to have deepened over the past hours. "Harry," he said, almost reverently. He paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of his son, before he ran across the room and pulled the boy into his arms. "Oh, Merlin - when I heard you scream, when I saw you on the stairs, I thought you were dead -"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry demanded. "Why did you make me find it all out for myself?"

Papa kissed the top of Harry's head, and Harry could see the guilt he felt reflected on his face. "I'm so sorry - ever so sorry. If people had known, we'd have been in danger anywhere we went. Death Eaters would be after us, the old followers of the Dark Lord. And reporters - we would be hounded every day of our lives. It's already begun. The _Daily Prophet_ is downstairs; some student owled his parents. I didn't want this for you. I wanted you to be safe and happy. After the way your aunt treated you… I didn't want you to have to grow up like me."

"I am happy," Harry said. "And I was safe."

"Someday you'll understand, then," Papa said. "Maybe not now - but someday, when you have a son of your own."

Harry didn't have an answer for that. Instead, he buried his face in his father's robe, and let Papa hold him.

-----

After another night in the infirmary, Harry was finally allowed to return to Gryffindor Tower. The bandages were still wrapped around his hands, but the one on his forehead was gone. He felt naked as he followed Papa down the hall, with Uncle Re helping him to stand.

The students stopped as he passed by. Some pointed, others simply stared. "It's him," he heard someone whisper, "it's Harry Potter!"

He kept himself from covering the scar with his hand, but only barely. Malfoy and his goons were clustered by the bottom of the staircase, and they all levelled glares as he passed by - glares, not at Harry, but at Papa. He hadn't seen any Gryffindors, yet, only Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and the Slytherins by the stairs.

Where were his friends? Where were Hermione, Neville, and Ron? Would they still be friends, when they knew he was dangerous? Uncle Re helped him up the stairs, and Harry heard Papa tell the Fat Lady the password. The portrait swung open, and Papa stood aside. Harry looked up.

They were all there - all the Gryffindors he knew by name, and some he didn't. A banner was stretched across the Common Room proclaiming "Get Well Soon, Harry!" in large, blinking letters.

Harry gasped and looked over at Uncle Re. "But I thought - I thought they didn't know about the stone -"

"It was a secret, yes," Uncle Re said, grinning, "which means that the whole school knows…"

Hermione and Ron rushed forward to help Harry across the threshhold, and Uncle Re backed off. "Welcome home, mate!" Ron said. "It's been boring up here!"

"We have so much to catch you up on!" Hermione exclaimed. "You've missed three whole days of class, and everyone was so worried. We thought you'd broken your neck in the fall!"

Neville came over, holding a card in his hand. "Here, mate. We thought you'd like to see this, too," he said. His hands were stained with chocolate, and Harry had a terrible feeling about just what it was.

He was right. Neville set a Chocolate Frog card into his hand, very carefully. On the front, his own face stared back at him. His photographed self was trying to hide at the edge of the picture but, on his tiny forehead, Harry could make out the lightning bolt scar. The name on the card was changed, too - rather than simply saying "Harry Potter," another bit had been added: "Harry Potter (Herodos Iamus Snape)."

Harry winced. "I'd like to go upstairs, please."

Hermione and Ron helped him, and Neville cleared the way. The other Gryffindors watched him go, looking to be just as in awe as the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Seamus and Dean gave strained smiles as he passed by.

And then, finally, he was in his room. Neville shut out the sounds of the Common Room, and Hermione helped him to sit down on his bed. Ron sat next to him and pulled out his Transfiguration book. "Alright. Yesterday in class, we covered larger inanimate transfigurations, like making furnature from a -"

"You don't want to ask me about it?" Harry blurted. "You don't want to know why I lied? You're - you're still my friends?"

"Of course we are!" Hermione sounded scandalized.

Neville sat too, at the end of Harry's bed, and reached over to pull the Chocolate Frog card from his hand. He tossed it over onto Seamus' bed. "We don't care what your name really is. Doesn't matter. We're your friends, and you're going to have to put up with us."

"But you're in danger, because of me," Harry argued. "Voldemort might come back at any moment, as powerful as ever. I'll be his first target."

"He'll have to get through us first," Ron said threateningly. "Just ignore those louts downstairs. They'll get over it soon enough."

Hermione shrugged. "You'll tell us when you're ready. Right now, we're talking about Transfiguration, because you have days to catch up on… now, we Transfigured chairs to tables, then tables to trunks…"

Harry didn't hear what she said next. He slowly looked from face to face. They were his friends, and they'd stay that way. He reached up and touched his scar.

"Harry," Hermione scolded, "don't touch it, you'll only inflame it more. Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, I am now."

Finis


End file.
